Expression of Greeting or Surprise
by schizometriclanguage
Summary: Katsuya hasn't spoken to his father for years and it's been for the better, but gets a call saying that he's in the hospital and asking for him. Unexpectantly, there's another familiar face in wait as well.
1. Prelude: Katsuya

He's running barefoot through the rain. He doesn t' know where they hid his shoes and if he didn't get home on time, there'd be hell to pay. That was the end of it. At least at home he had another pair and could wear those till he found the other ones or found those responsible, but for now he'd have to deal with the gravel digging into his feet and the mud soaking and staining his pant legs. And the cold; His feet had gone so numb that it added even more to the hurt rather than offering some mercy. But it was better than being late. All he had to do was get into the door without anyone seeing him. All he had to do was get there in five minutes, and no one would be waiting for him because this was all perfectly normal; 3:36. He had four more minutes.

At the doorstep he spared a moment to catch his breathe and then opened the door. _Better not to try and sneak in,_ he thought. He still had another minute.

"Katsuya-kun!"

He stopped.

"Yeah?"

"Come give your dad a hug."

He cringed. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but at least he was inside now and the missing shoes didn't have to be a part of it. He rubbed his already raw feet onto the doormat to get rid of the mud and made his way into the room.

"Okay."

Enveloped sloppily in the massive arms of his father, he was instead thinking of his mother and how lovely she smelled. Especially in the spring, after working out in the garden, she smelt the prettiest then. She would smell of earth and flowers from the garden she liked to keep; not the mud and alcohol scent that he was currently experiencing. _Better me than Shizuka,_ he thought, holding his breath. The stench still filled his nostrils, sour, bitter. His arms hardly embraced his father back, held awkwardly in a conflict of revulsion and love that he knew, even as a child, that he was supposed to feel but could never trust.

Through every second of it he was begging for it to end; the simple gesture that should have meant love meaning nothing more than an entrapment. His teeth were bare against his fathers skin, though he was certain he d clamped his mouth shut. The man had a habit of swaying precariously, was the problem.

Finally, his father let go, and he was able to leave. However, before he could take even two steps though, he heard the familiar anger break into his fathers voice like a trapped river from a dam.

"What the fuck happened, boy? Why the hell are your feet bleeding! It's all over the floor!"

Of all the times he'd been hit before, he remembered this one the most. It wasn t much different from any other time, wasn t any harder and wasn t any more than one good point of impact, but it was enough. It was just the one he d remembered the most. Maybe because of what happened after. If he was going to get hit, he wanted it to be for something that actually was his fault. He'd have to be tougher. He'd have to be someone he didn't want to be. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was fear, but either way, within the month he'd joined a gang of ruffians he was sure his father would be proud of.

* * *

The alarm went off, piercing the silence violently. Katsuya wasn't much for laying around in the morning, not like he was in high school. He had a reason to wake up. Somehow, his whole life had been converted into one of those self-help books where almost every moment of his life was committed to facing the day, taking on challenges and making your self a better person in all aspects of life and all with a grin too, just to top it off. What frightened him was that he really meant it. He honestly thought that life was pretty damn grand right now. What was scary about /that/ was the thought that maybe he was forgetting something. After all, he was some punk from the shabbiest part of Domino, and for things to be going so well; well, it wasn t something he felt comfortable putting his trust in. That kid of from the streets was who he was at heart, that s where he s learned everything he d needed to know, even if he hadn t learned it in the most conventional of ways. For better or worst, he d started off feeling like a no one.

There was always that nagging feeling that he d never become anything more than that no one.

On his skin though, there was something different and he knew it; he even liked it. But there were people who could ruin it all, and that made the surface fragile. All it would take would be to see anyone from the old gang, anyone he d done something too and was out for revenge, any one of his fathers friends who d been around when he was growing up; if he saw _his father,_ everything he'd worked for and achieved would mean nothing. Seeing any of those people would prove that he was still the little piece of shit back from an apartment complex ghetto. But none of that, against all odds, had happened in seven years.

Until today, naturally. It s always when it s least expected, because _it_ doesn t care much to be forgotten. Whatever the hell _it_ was.

It wasn't so much seeing really so much as a chain of events that would lead to the inevitable face-to-face meeting. First, it was a call from his sister. It wasn't during any of their usual times to make calls to one another, so he knew immediately that there must have been something wrong. He was relieved when it wasn't his mother, though she wasn't doing so great either these days and was glad to hear that it wasn t the kids either.

His father was in the hospital, had a heart attack. Katsuya was surprised that it wasn't his liver, considering that mileage that thing had on it, but by the sounds of it that wasn't far off either. The withdrawals were making their imprint on the wasted body, it sounded like.

"And what am I supposed to do? I have work," he asked irritably, tossing a hand up behind his neck and sliding it roughly into his hair. He knew it was a poor excuse, work, but it was the first thing that tumbled out of his mouth. It just as quickly gave a pang of guilt along with the question of why he had to be such a knee-jerk reaction asshole. The guy was his father after all, whatever that amounted to. Around him, his small apartment was sprouting cracks from the floor and the windows threatened to shatter; at least in his mind. The fragile skin overtop his own didn t crack or shatter though; it just started to melt.

"Katsuya-kun, you don't have to do anything. You don't have to see him, you don't even have to call him, but you have to know," Shizuka pacified from the other end. "He's been asking for you."

Asking for him? For what? What did he want? _I have nothing to give him_.

"I'm sorry. Thanks for calling, I have to go or I'll miss the train. I love you; tell mom and the kids that I love them too. He was brushing Shizuka off, he knew, but he'd done it politely and he knew that she would understand. She always understood.

Still felt like abusive neglect though. Something someone like his father would have done.

So he went to work. He stewed over the notion of going to see the old bastard all day. The worst part was that he didn't hate him. How could he? Everything the man had done, good and bad, and though they weren't equal in their parts, had played some part in shaping the person he was. It taught him the bad parts of himself, and encouraged him to cultivate the good. Sure he had a streak of aggression, but thinking of his father had (almost) always kept that in check once he d realized where it d come from. He finished school by some small miracle (something to do with the threat of expulsion if he didn t put as much time into his studies as he did into Duel Monsters) and got into trades, got an apprenticeship; a real job. He'd gotten out of that life he feared; but if he went and saw his father, he risked getting into it all over again. He didn't have the faith enough that he could keep out of it, that's not how those lives work. Its small things, you make one concession after another until you're drowning in all the acquaintances that want something from you and will hurt you one way or another to get it. The closer he got to his father, the more likely all the people he wished that he d never met have a chance to see him, find him, and call up old exchanges.

_"Fuck._ Just _fuck."_

He'd go see him. He knew he would. He could deny the old man, but what good would that do? Calling his boss he asked for the following day off; no problem, family first. He called Honda, bitched for a couple of hours about it and then he went to bed. Honda understood, having his own family problems. But that's all they could really do, contrast and compare and still both come to the conclusion that he should go and see the old man. What if this was the last chance he had to see his father? What if it didn't go as badly as either imagined it would? All questions to be answered only by taking action. They could speculate all night, but they both preferred to cut to the chase and go to sleep and face it in the morning.

* * *

He thought about bringing flowers, but it didn't seem like the sort of thing that his father would appreciate. Besides, there wasn't anything he wanted to do as a sign of good will because it would probably be twisted into a invitation for something further. It's all about making concessions; he vowed to make none. But then, he was making one by showing up, wasn't he? He held his fist over the door for a moment and then knocked lightly beside the label for the room number the nurse had given him downstairs before turning the handle.

"Dad? You awake?"

He was of course and Katsuya walked in to find that the man was a shell. It was a disgusting shell, an old and wrinkled shell, missing more teeth than it had in his smile, kept clean only by the hospital staff. He thought about leaving, but asides from his appearance, there was nothing of the old man to fear, no reason he could find feasible other than old history. He liked to leave the past in the past; age and self inflicted abuse had rendered his father harmless. Maybe he should have come sooner.

"Come give your old man a hug," the thin voice said, a gnarled hand beckoning him closer with yellowed cigarette stains.

"Okay."

He smelt of the sterility of the hospital and a tired old man who hadn t done much with his life. From his own clothes he smelt the woods he worked with during the day and the soap he bought from a stand down the street. He liked to think that he d grown to smell more like his mother than his father.

"I've missed you, kid," his father said, muffled. Katsuya didn t answer, pretending that he hadn t heard as he withdrew and sunk into the chair beside the bed. The sun shone through the glazed window as best it could.


	2. Chapter One: HONEY

**Chapter One: HONEY**

"Finally getting that heart installed?"

Seto looked up from his planner. He recognized Jounouchi, but made no greeting. The man's overly assuming grin faltered for a moment. He hadn't changed much, still rough around the edges, but appropriately older. He'd done something to his hair that made him look more presentable in polite society, the mass of flyaway hair he d last seen him with had been subdued but not tamed. It irked Seto, how well Jounouchi had aged, often being self-conscious himself for his own teenage-like appearance. He knew that his employee s joked that he was a robot. Not clever. He didn t need to appear older for people to take him seriously, but the dignity would have been a appreciated genealogical allowance.

"Frigid as ever, eh?"

He looked back down at his planner but it was quickly pushed away by calloused hands. Hard labour; not a surprising job for his formerly incessant rival. A clipboard was held in his other hand.

"Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you, please," he pressed, and Seto heard a straining in his voice the way it used to when they traded trash talk before a duel. He closed the planner he d been studying with a click and flicked a narrowed gaze to look Jou in the eye. He was surprised to see desperation that hadn t matched his voice, thinking that it might have just been a tone he d misheard. The look passed however as Jou found relief in getting Seto s attention and did not impede any appropriate response time.

"You still haven't learned any proper manners, have you? No one to house train you yet?" Seto finally answered crisply, against his better habit of ignoring people. It already felt like a mistake but he was drawn in now, interested in why Jou would reach out to someone who d never been a kind receptor for the type of attention he was so clearly in want of. Had his sister relapsed?

"No, I guess not...how's the Academy?"

"Fine."

Silence grounded itself. Seto studied Jou s face evenly, and could see that it unnerved him still. But he wasn t trying to stare him down; the sensation that something was very wrong in the person across from him raised hackles. It was better to not get involved. And yet, Seto could see that Jou was begging for him to kill the silence. He blankly continued his studied Jou s face and the inclination to oblige hovered between them though he knew that he needn t comply. They were just two people had hadn t seen each other for a while, and two people who d rarely seen one another off of the Duel Monsters tournament circuit.

"How are you?" Seto asked. The words tumbled out in an awkward unfamiliarity; they were often only received by Mokuba and his fianc . Visibly, Seto could see Jounouchi relax. People didn t do that. He hadn't seen anyone so /relieved/ to be spoken to by him for a long time. Seto couldn't remember talking with anyone properly for a long time though either. The last time was when Mokuba had announced his engagement, and since then they'd hadn t had many exchanges. They d been short and few as they had been over the last few years, which was fair enough; Mokuba had a wedding to plan, a baby to get ready for and for himself, Seto had a company to run.

"I'm alright. I came to see my dad. Seto gave a curt nod in response, admittedly empathic in feeling that it wasn t Jou's sister, imagining Mokuba afflicted with something that he could not fix. He didn t inquire further. He didn't have to;

"He died an hour ago."

Seto felt his spine go brittle. He wasn't supposed to deal with this, and the suddenly apparent strangulated sound of Jou's voice snaked around him. Now he was obligated by the fact, which wasn t something that he should have felt because he didn't owe Jou anything. _Fool._

I'm sorry," Seto offered. He wouldn't admit the sincerity of his apology if Jou didn t hear it and asked. But he was sorry. It was almost twenty-five years ago that his own father had died, and he had nothing relatable to offer but he was sorry in the most conventional sense of the word. And it was never about relating, in situations like these, he knew that even without experience. Of course, now the floodgates were open and because of who they were and who they d been, Jou would be telling him more. It d be easy to excuse himself as his own business was done, but at the same time, he couldn t deny that the connection between them did bring about some obligation. He was mature enough to see that. Or civil enough. Seeing uncertain direction wavering over Jounouchi cemented him in place to listen. It d be cruel, crueller than he was, to leave the man there, holding shakily filled forms waiting for a nurse to take it from him. So he waited for what would be said next. His lingering presence was enough to bring Jou to speech again. Good.

"Thanks. It's actually better this way. I hadn't talked to him in about seven years anyways. But it's still...you know. I should have made an effort?"

Seto shrugged,

"If you hadn't talked to him for seven years, I assume that he gave you a good reason not to."

"Hah, yeah, that's for sure."

The punctuating conversation went stagnant again. Seto hoped that Jounouchi didn't cry, he didn't want to see that. He wouldn't know what to do. Well, that wasn't entirely true, he knew what to do because of Mokuba when they were kids. Holding a stranger until they were ready to let go wasn't very high on his list of things to do though, ever. But the compulsion to behave humanely was overpowering. Seto didn t hate Jounouchi, he discerned as he probed past his usual veneer or irritation caused by the man. And he d lost his membership in discourteous treatment when it came to this manner of relations, anyways. Well, in the very least he wasn t a VIP member.

"Are you hungry?"

Jounouchi wiped at his eyes, sparing them both the scrutiny that came from crying in public. Or maybe something had just gotten in his eye. Seto wouldn t ask.

"Yeah."

"We'll go somewhere where the food isn't made by a sixty-year-old drop-out who drops their dentures in the soup, Seto promised, pointedly glancing over towards the hospital cafeteria.  
Jounouchi was quick to laugh at the joke and it brushed off the rigid lines over his body. Nodding, he wiped the last of the threatening tears (or dust particles) off his face and onto his sleeve. Seto grasped lightly the arm of a passing nurse and indicated for her to take the clipboard from Jounouchi. Without it, he looked further abandoned and Seto very nearly wished that they d just taken the damn thing with them. It probably hadn t been fully filled anyways and now it was likely that Jounouchi would have to return to appropriately complete the mountainous stack of papers.

But that wasn t very important, as things stood.

* * *

Seto hadn't really expected Jounouchi to eat, and wasn't surprised when he spent upwards of an hour watching the man push his food around the plate like a child who didn't want to eat his greens. But if it prevented Jou from having a unfettered public emotional outpouring, the goal had been achieved.

In the dim lighting he looked younger than he had in the harsh lighting of the hospital, thought Seto, more like when he'd last seen him. Any contempt he'd felt for Jou had, if not dissipated, at least been diluted. The things that mattered then had become strikingly adolescent and while he was not above some lingering feeling of instinctually learned contempt still, Seto knew the irrationality of it now. Or rather, he d always known the irrationality, but had little problem with dismissing it now.

Asides, glass of wine in his hand, Jou looked almost sophisticated; the duellist tournaments were a long time ago now and they were old enough to be above tossing childish taunts and challenges at one another (though he had more than several in reserve, just in case). Seto focused back on Jou; Jou wouldn t be thinking of any of that right now, and Seto drew himself back into the present. Reminiscing wasn t worth ruminating over when all was said and done. He d just been caught off guard by the mere sight of the man in the flesh rather. He didn t want to appear as though he were just killing time; Jounouchi made eye contact and something in the corner of his mouth made to make an expression but only got halfway before falling flat.

"How's Mokuba?" Jou asked finally, setting down his fork and giving up entirely on the processes of digestion.

"He's fine. He s engaged; a girl he met in Nepal."

"Nepal? Seriously?"

Seto shot a look. _Yes, seriously._

"He runs one of the charity programs there. He decided he liked it and ended up staying there for the last three years. He doesn't need to help me here; he has his own life."

Jou leaned in closer, studying his face. Seto didn't blink under the scrutiny, didn't move. It was a major invasion of the space people usually gave him, but it wasn't offensive so he consciously decided to not take it as such. Under normal circumstances, he would have decided otherwise.

"Looks the same, sounds the same, but doesn't really talk the same...Can it really be Seto Kaiba? What's this of self-sacrifice? I m confounded. And this dinner?" Jou said, with a smile; it wasn't a forced smile. "How the times have changed."

Jou knocked the bottom of Seto's chin lightly with a curled finger and moved back into his seat. Finally, Seto frowned, but didn t acknowledge the contact any further.

"Do you duel anymore?" he asked instead. He hadn t seen or read anything about Jounouchi, or about duelling at all, as of late. Jou's hands really were rough; he could even tell from that brief touch. They hadn't felt warm or cold.

"A bit, nothing major. I'm a carpenter now. I make furniture, toys. It got not boring, but decisions led me elsewhere? I don t need to be in tournaments to know that I still love the game. Seto gave a short nod, having nothing of great change to offer up to continue the where are they now session. Jou took a sip of his wine, looking out over the restaurant. He didn't find anything interesting and focused back on him.

"Kaiba, thanks for all this. You really didn't have to, and you know that, but thanks. Shit. Seto arched an eye-brow, and though being a slight motion it was one large enough for Jou to know that he needed to explain himself. There was another moment before he answered, a smile curling over his lip nervously. It was the first sign of apprehension Jou had had towards him all evening. He laughed nervously first, and then spoke again.

It s like I ve never met you before. Properly anyways; I've always known that you weren't as much as a bastard as you liked people to think though."

"Is that so?"

"Of course; I saw how you were with Mokuba when you weren t screwing up. It's really any different than how I am with my sister, so you can't be any worse than I am. I theorize."  
He might look older, but Seto was certain that Jounouchi hadn't changed. He might have gained some reign over his hot-headedness (though Seto could not know this for certain given the circumstance), but he still spoke in a straight-forward fashion, preferring not to dance around the topic. It was something that Seto could respect. While he himself said what he thought suited in the most efficient way possible, it never came out so brightly as it did with Jounouchi and never so earnestly when he meant it to. He wouldn t change that about himself, but it was an enviable quality to observe at times. He d said things more frigidly than he d meant to when it came to Mokuba more than once, and it d come to a climax around the time Mokuba began high school (going so far as to enrol himself in a overseas academy after junior high). Trying to raise his own brother hadn t been a problem because he d never known any different, but Mokuba was every bit as much a Kaiba as he was and it showed once he grew out of following after his elder brother s every say-so. Mokuba had found out that he was a different person from his brother and things smoothed out again. Seto swept the thoughts away again. He kept doing that, thinking back; it had to stop. It wasn't him.

"Do you need a ride home?"

"I shouldn't impose any-"

"Do you?"

* * *

He was surprised that Jou invited him in, and more surprised with himself that he accepted without much thought. He was having trouble refusing the connection. Seto d made more concessions to Jounouchi in the last five hours than he had to anyone for in probably the last five years and Jou hadn t even needed to ask. Something he d have to keep in check, Seto noted.

He watched Jou pull off his loosely laced runners and descend over into the darkly carpeted apartment to turn on several lamps. What was the compulsion to follow after him? It could be a simple sympathy, but it wasn t; he was enjoying the company, liking the feeling that he was needed. Jou was overly affecting. Seto followed into the apartment, agreed to a drink as he removed his own shoes and placed then in alignment beside Jou s. The space wasn't impressive in size by any means, but it was bright, kept clean and minimally decorated. It wasn't distasteful. Smells of wood seemed to permeate the air, and miscellaneous planks and half-finished, half-stored pieces claimed origin to the scent.

The photographs on the wall were of his friends, his family. His father was glaringly absent, but his mother and sister dotted the walls more frequently than everyone else. His friends hadn't changed much either, Seto saw. There were a few new people, but all the closest ones that he also knew were still there. There were children now too. Seto knew that one of them was Yuugi's since Yuugi was still duelling professionally and the press kept up on him, but there were other faces that he didn't recognize and were too young to give clues as to who they belonged too.

"You don't have any kids of your own?"

"Hah, no, I'm godfather and uncle to enough of them as it is and at least one of them visits every other weekend."

Seto took a seat at the lone sofa facing an ancient looking television set that in all likelihood, had been rescued from a curb side. It was a dark crimson, gold stitching in the fabric in Japanese characters for good luck, wealth, faith, loyalty; the standards, all in columns running vertically across the back. He examined the armrests, made of a dark wood carved into carefully detailed dragons. The juxtaposition of the fine furnishing and the remaining objects in the room loudly stated it s significance. "Red Eyes Black Dragon," he identified. Jou grinned, lightly tossing a can to him and settling beside him. Seto pulled back the tab, the hiss of air rushing in punctuating the air in near unison with Jou s. He took a sip, the amber liquid s scent ghosting past his senses, jarringly out of place.

"You bet. I guess I don't need to tell you that I made it. Well, I mean I had help since a friend did the upholstery."

"Impressive."

Jou raised his drink in a silent toast, accepting the compliment smoothly.

Do you enjoy it more than duelling? Jou didn t answer immediately, and Seto watched thought pass over his face.

Well in some ways. They re too different to say which I like more, but carpentry gives me more stability some place that can actually feel like home. I spent so much time on the road going here and there and then back and then Shizuka s kids never recognized who I was and my mum I like having a place to call home. Not that I ve quit duelling, but He shrugged. He didn t know how to answer.

Jou stood up again, setting the can on the table and going to the sink for a glass of water instead. He sat a moment and drained over half of it but stood again, incapable of remaining seated. It was filling the air with a nervous energy, and Seto watched him warily with the knowledge of where this was all going and thinking that it was this thing that might have been the reason that he d so complacently followed after. Jou trailed over to the window, observing a light drizzle of rain just beginning to swell into a downpour. The day s remaining light illuminated his frame and obscured his expression. Seto didn t have to imagine far to what it was conveying however to know that it was comprised of confusion and guilt that didn t belong to the man. Jou had put up a good play since they'd left the hospital, but the inevitable was about to happen. It wasn't a question of strength, Seto knew better than most of the resolve Jou possessed. It was something else. Something no person felt the same; the death of a parent however loathsome or self-destructive they d been, was still the death of someone you could never deny a connection to. For someone who d never had a parent , Seto noted that it was strange that he could still sense the loss of one. Empathy wasn t his forte, but it didn t have to be with it laid out in front of him as it was with Jou. A hand went up over Jounouchi s face and the first sharp breath articulated itself in a strangled shortness. Seto could see his shoulders tremble as he fought to hold them still. It wasn t a way that Seto wanted to ever see anyone; it was too intrusive and he felt his incompetence lay over any clear course of action. It would be best to excuse himself, to leave Jou to his self, and to call his friends, his sister for him; best for himself, not Jounouchi. Seto knew he wasn't a part of this mans life, wasn't the friend or sibling or lover that he needed right now. But given the situation, Seto had the notion that Jou would settle for less given his current state. And that held him there between leaving and staying.

Pretending not to notice a moment longer would have been unnecessarily taunting and Seto took a long draught of his drink in the prescription that he d probably need it, and then made to move towards Jou. It was easier than he d anticipated. The last moments came for him to back out as he got closer, but he didn't, setting a hand gently on Jou's shoulder despite knowing full well what would come of it. He was right, he thought as blonde hair turned and pressed up against the bottom of his face and hands gripped at his arms to stop the body from falling. Apologizing profusely, Jou pressed his face onto his chest, tears quickly soaking through his shirt. Seto didn't say anything, but backed up to the couch when his arms became sore and sat down, Jou still clinging to him painfully. He didn't mind. What was the sacrifice? A shirt? Some time? Nothing he couldn't suffer. He didn't even mind the inane babblings of grief, forgiving them silently and promptly forgetting them to spare future humiliation for the both of them. All he had to do was wait until Jounouchi was ready to let go.

* * *

"Shit I m sorry," Jou muttered again, still shame-faced. He'd just washed his face, water drops still running down his neck and soaked hairline, wetting his collar. His hazel eyes were still rimmed red, his face still sufficiently flushed. He deflated over the kitchen table for a moment into his hands, and Seto lightly set a cup of tea in front of him and Jou reached over to a plastic container of honey.

"It's fine."

Seto sat across from him, studying what grief and regret looked like. He'd seen it before of course, but it always cast itself differently over each person. On Jou, it was attractive and he felt guilty for thinking so but was in no mood for denial. Besides, though it d been too long now to know what Jou looked like when he was happy, Seto was certain it was a better fashion for him so it wasn t as though he were wishing any great pains upon the man.

"I haven't even asked about you...why were you at the hospital?"

Seto paused his breathe and tongue for a moment. It wasn't any concern of Jou's, but something had passed between them and he could hear it demanding an exchange of truths. He hadn't told anyone else yet, not even Mokuba. _Fuck it. I ll say it._

"Getting my T-cell count checked, picking up my subscriptions."

He didn t look away as he said it, making sure that Jou heard what he meant. Jou s expression changed smoothly from inquisitive to realizing and back again, although with a element of urgency. All things Seto could have predicted, but hadn t. It unsettled him, catching him a rare moment of being unprepared. But the evening had been comprised of rare moments and it was easy to fall into the fluidity of.

"...oh, Christ...are you alright?"

"For now."

"How? Who?"

He could see Jou getting worked up and marvelled at how easily his loyalty was won. How did he operate like that, so carelessly? Didn't he know how easy people betrayed each other? _He does. But he puts blind faith in them anyways._

"Condom broke. Doesn't matter who, I don't remember their name. Or I don't care too; it didn't mean anything. It was a few years ago. Mokuba doesn't know, and I don't need to tell you to not mention it to anyone."

"No, fuck, of course not. Shit, I'm sorry. And here I am crying over a man who s never done me any good; I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

Jounouchi stared at him incredulously, mouth slightly ajar; _of course, you callous asshole._ It didn't help the conveyance of intelligence, reminding Seto of a fish. The concern, while in Seto's opinion was misplaced, felt good when it washed over him and he took a moment to enjoy it but bristled when it got to overwhelming.

"I really don't get you," Jou said, the recurring good-natured smile a ghost over his lips, "Of course I'm sorry. That's some rough shit."

Seto shrugged. He agreed, a bit.

They spoke back and forth slowly with uncomfortably extended moments of silence.


	3. Chapter Two: TELEPHONICS

Like a dream, the night with Kaiba quickly faded around the edges and Katsuya could only remember certain parts that for one reason or another had stood out more than the others. He remembered that he d offered to sleep on the couch so that Kaiba could take the bed. It d been late and it d be inconvenient to send him away so late at night. The clock had read 4:30 by the time either had looked. Enough time to get a nap in before going to work, for both of them. But then, the greatest inconvenience to Kaiba, Katsuya realized was that he d sobbed upon, talked to and coerced into staying as company to him. Kaiba was a big time CEO. He didn t have time for this sort of thing.

But he d given it, despite that. He d been surprisingly good company too, though it d be a useless and inefficient thing to tell him. It d have been something that'd require Katsuya to swallow his pride for, anyways. And he didn t. He wouldn t beg for Kaiba s company any more than he d beg for anyone else s.

He recalled that Kaiba hadn t looked at the time. Not once. And he hadn t thrown any insults. The things most noticeable were the things that heavily contrasted with a bulk of the image Katsuya had of him. If there'd been one person of them all over the years, it was Kaiba he least suspected to change. But he d been pleasantly surprised. Not that he'd been overtly affectionate, reassuring or compassionate, but the fact that he'd _stayed _resonated.

In particular, Katsuya recalled the closing fragment of their slow night time conversation.

Do you really think that it s a wise idea to go to work in the morning?

Katsuya had stopped, studying Kaiba's face again before turning the question inwards to himself. He d thought that he wouldn't be doing any good at home, more than likely he'd end up being sucked into watching daytime TV or restlessly pacing. It felt better to be busy, to be working with his hands. Doing what he was supposed to be doing.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Can t afford to miss it. Thanks for the concern though," Katsuya had answered. He'd made a face of mock seriousness, "Better watch out there Kaiba. You'll end up with a human relationship if you keep this up. And with me, no less."

"Hmph, I'll take the risk."

A joke. A quip. One that didn't cut because that was it's nature. Something that he kept thinking about and that kept clouding over his thinking with the idea that perhaps that'd been an invitation to follow-up. But what he was supposed to say? Without duelling, there wasn t anything Katsuya could think of that they had in common. Not anything that they'd talk about and not anything they could do with each other without tearing out one anothers' throat. Kaiba may have been cordial, but there d been a circumstance. It wasn t like he could just call the man up for a chat. Seto Kaiba didn t really chat. Even the night together had proved that. He'd tried, but it was an agonizing thing to be on the receiving end of things.

Then there was the fact that Kaiba hadn t exactly sent out any communications either. Maybe it d just been a moment that two unlikely people had shared.

But it didn t quite feel as though it d finished. It d been a month, but there was that air around the idea that hadn t settled. Like maybe he should grow up and act like the loud, brash, outspoken punk he d come to be known for. No point in cowering when there wasn t anything to be afraid of. He wasn t afraid of Seto Kaiba, after all. Not even of the idea of someone like Kaiba. Just overwhelmed. There was such a distance between them, the kind that he didn t know how to handle. The one that d made him respond with in anger for nearly the whole time he d known the guy.

Shizuka had done most of the arrangements for the funeral, something that didn t sit well with whatever lucid moments his mother had left. It was the son s job, not the daughter's. He d wanted to scream at her, for that, but refrained. His mother wasn t around enough to know. It d only made him choke up and leave the room, to be stopped in the hall by Shizuka and then driven home by Honda who d followed after.

It felt like things were just falling apart. Things he d tried to make matter the least. He didn t go to the wake, but attended the cremation. It was too expensive to bury the man. It d felt like nothing. He'd felt nothing, as they waited to receive the ashes. The only thing he felt was a great sensation of singularity as his sister tried to reassure him, as his friends tried to offer platitudes and share experiences. He just didn t hear it. At all.

It d been good to have them there. Honda had been the only one to say nothing, knowing the most about how things had been. Mai had come too, but seemed even less equipped to help; but having her there was all that he d wanted. However singular he d felt, seeing his friends and family reminded him that they were there too, feeling similar things. Feeling that pressing atmosphere that gave promises. Thinking about death and life. The obvious thing to think of would have been death of course, their own pending deaths, but Katsuya was thinking of something nearly irrelevant. He d been thinking of Kaiba, here and there, in absence. Which made sense, considering that the first person he d talked to after the senior Jounouchi s death had been him. More than talked to. Connected with. A connection that he didn t know how to handle.

The only time he d taken off work had been the half a day to cremate his father. As he was there, he was certain that he d answered Kaiba s parting question honestly. He didn t want anything further to do with the man who d happened to be his father. As far as he d been concerned, save for those last days, his father had been dead for years. Always spoken about like a ghost in his mind when it came up between Shizuka and him. Now they just had the paperwork to prove it.

* * *

"Jounouchi-san?"

The name felt increasingly improper and he hesitated before answering. It was his father s name, never his, and now his father was gone. His body gave pause at it s sounding, as though hesitating to acknowledge it. He turned around to respond in spite of this.

"Yeah?"

Katsuya looked beside him, recognizing Masako. She was the only woman in the workshop. Most of the men there would ignore her, and apparently the reason that there d been room for Katsuya in the first place was because the man who d held the position before him had gotten into a fight about who should be doing what and the opinion had been raised that women didn t belong in the profession. Nanazo, the owner/teacher of their shop, fired him. No second chances when it came to Masako. While she did have the talent to be working in the shop, there were some politics considering that she was younger than the rest of them, a woman, and to top it off, Nanazo s granddaughter and was apparently being groomed since childhood to take over the business when she was old enough. The last part, of being groomed to be an heir, Katsuya was not so sure of. She seemed to have her own plans, expressing an interest in opening her own workshop.

"Do you think that you can go get the lunches? I'd go, but I have a piece that needs some finishing touches before five."

"Yeah, sure," Katsuya agreed, brightly flashing a grin. It felt false, but it didn t have anything to do with Masako. He had no problem whatsoever with her; it was likely what kept him so separate from the others. She reminded him of his sister; a determined grace. She thanked him and handed him the list which he transferred immediately to his pant pocket. Looking outside, he saw that it d cleared up from the morning, the sun shining through where fog and rain had obscured earlier. It'd moved off to his end of the city again, he saw.

Katsuya took the bicycle they kept at the shop to bike down the road to the nearby open market. It d take about five minutes to get down, he calculated, and twenty to get back up. He looked down the hill and bleakly thought of having to bring everyone s soups and lunches back uphill without dropping any of it or opening the packages accidentally as they shifted. He sighed. It didn t matter; he needed the break anyways.

He took a breath, shoved the helmet on his head then kicked off, tearing down the gravelled hill, arms spread out and letting loose a banshee cry. Inside no one bothered to look out, by now too used to it. For Katsuya however, it provided some relief, wind blowing past his ears in a flips and slides, catching away any thoughts before they could enter. It was a nice day. The sun was out, the air was clear, the birds were singing, etc, etc. By the bottom of the hill however, it all settled in again and the humidity felt suffocating; a case where rain would actually have improved his mood instead of mirroring it. He sighed. He wanted to go back home, sprawl out on the floor and stare at the ceiling. His heart wasn't in the day, something that'd been happening much more often since that.

He pedalled casually down the road and stopped at the gaping mouth of the market to dismount from the bike. It wasn t busy today, thankfully. But then, with things coming so easily, it left him time to think of other things. Like calling Seto Kaiba. It was as good as day as any, wasn t it?

It d been six weeks and there was something discourteous he was feeling about not calling. It _had_ been an invitation for follow-up, Katsuya had eventually concluded. Now though, the danger in it s refusal was due to the time that d lapsed. Then again, that wasn t a good reason to drop off into an abyss from one another again. With everyone so caught up in their own lives, it didn t seem a bad idea to make new connections. He had time. He worked too, but he didn t have a family of his own to take care of, or his own business like Mai did. That made all the difference, apparently. He was responsible solely for himself. And _that_ was something that he and Kaiba definitely had in common and was a good enough reason to call.

The prospects remained grim, but he resolved to make the call when he got home. That was it. Decided. It made him feel restless, and not in an entirely unpleasant way. _Always one for making friends, _he thought wryly.

Katsuya paused, having passed several vendors already and pulled out the Want list. Checking over it he scoffed at a few of the requests (he wasn't going to spend all afternoon looking for _that_) and in the back of his mind considered blowing off work (which he d never done intentionally) to go see Mai. Which he wouldn t do because this wasn t high school and he wasn't some punk causing havoc in the streets with a bunch of punk-ass kids.

He was getting lunch for his colleagues and would be entirely responsible about it. _Funny,_ he thought, _how I still have to remind myself about things like that sometimes._

* * *

"She doesn t know how he was. She was too young to remember, but you know you d think that _my_ input would count for something. Why is she so attached to the bastard?"

Mai shrugged. He hadn't been able to get through to Kaiba and as a result (which didn t surprise him, but did leave him disappointed and feeling that he'd reached a great anti-climax) he d made his way to Mai s bar, _Harpy s Den._ Not, as many passer-bys working up the courage to enter, as much as a lesbian bar as one would expect. A good cover for the under-the-table duelling Mai let go on in the back rooms. Something that always worried Jou, but he assumed that Mai knew what she was doing. It was a quick way to allow herself to duel big names (and the ones who d managed expulsion from proper leagues), rather than having to work through tournaments. She was a woman who did not enjoy her time being wasted. The bar was mostly a front.

"He's her father. That s all. He didn't hate either of you, he just hated himself. Never knew how to love you."

Katsuya waved Mai's explanation off. Stock rationality. He could figure it out for himself. The fact that an explanation didn t change anything was what bothered him. He was their father. Mai didn t go on, receiving his thoughts via their long-standing intimacy. He didn t even have to say thank-you for it.

"It s-- It was like this big secret between the two of them. I guess I was just jealous. He was still a fuck-up, even with her reintroducing him into her life and keeping him there, but I know that there had to be something between them that was better. They fought, but only about him not trying to get better or trying and then giving up. Or even just talking about trying. Shit, I don t know. There was something there I never got."

Katsuya coughed, the words beginning to withhold their coherency. There was no request for an explanation and he knew that Mai couldn t understand what he was trying to say, but not trying to understand was just as well in place of having nothing poignant to offer. He could feel her watching him, but didn t look to meet her gaze. It was a comfortable watching, and he could feel when the time had passed for the both of them to remain silent. It was too long. Not too long to spend with Mai like that, just more time than his father deserved to be thought of all at once.

Christ, this is why he didn t drink. Just ended up thinking about crap that didn t deserve being thought about. He hadn t even had _that much_ and that was the truth, not just something someone would say when they d obviously had a few too many. He d had one and half of the one in front of him. Just enough to loose his tongue a bit. For _feelings._ Mai wouldn t let him have another, but that didn t matter. He never asked for more. That he d had any at all was just because Mai had put one in front of him so that she didn t feel like she was drinking alone.

"It doesn't sound like what they had was something you'd have wanted though. He might have been trying, but it sounds like he was failing too. It's not something you'd have needed."

Katsuya looked up and offered a brief smile, enough to say that she was getting through. It was true. Whenever Shizuka tried to talk it out with him, he'd only really played as listening and bit his tongue the whole way through. He'd proudly admit that he loved his sister very much, but it was good to have Mai too for the things that he couldn't talk to with Shizuka about. He d never been able to ask if Shizuka had honestly expected anything else from their father. He sometimes, with guilt and bitterness, resented her altruism and wondered why he couldn't evoke it as well as she could.

Mai was the other person he imagined to feel how he did about things, the feeling of being left behind somehow. Once or twice, they d tried to be intimate with one another, but there was always that space. He knew that for a long while people thought that they were together , but her heart was elsewhere and he had no driving interest in diverting it from that route. He didn t want her to love him like that, and he sensed that she didn t want to love him like that either. They needed to be friends, and that satisfied them both.

His phone rang and vibrated in his jean pocket. Thrusting a leg out, he pulled it out and read the caller ID. Mai motioned for him to take it.

"I've called your house, but I looked up your cell," Kaiba informed through the tinny sound of the old cell. It didn t sound accusatory. Katsuya wasn't going to ask how Kaiba managed to find his cell number and neither commented on the slight discomfort in knowing that the man had actually gone out of his way to find it.

"Ah yeah, I couldn t get through your secretary, she's sort of--"

"It's why I hired her. It won't happen again."

"Er, not a problem. Don't go crazy and fire her or anything, hah. Anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to get together some time? It just feels like things sort of got left hanging. I wasn't sure if I should call you."

"What did you have in mind?"

Katsuya blinked and didn t answer for a moment. The mechanical way the man could speak kept catching Katsuya off guard. So direct. Maybe this was how he was polite. Conversation wasn t the man s forte, but there was something about hearing it over the phone that made that fact even more clear. Courtesy, or offers for help, weren t Kaiba's professions either. He felt like he was missing something obvious. And like he should have gone in with something more resembling a plan. That was always his downfall playing by instinct didn t always pan out, and he even knew that because of it s countless validations.

But coffee. Everyone liked coffee, right?

"How about coffee? Do you know um..."

Mai mouthed the word Platypae from across the table. He reiterated it with vague landmarks from one of the shopping districts. It was a good suggestion and he mouthed back a thank-you to her. She nodded, nonchalant. He knew it, had gone there with Mokuba a few years ago. Katsuya would marvel at this later if Kaiba could still find his way down there. Saturday morning, ten. A good reason to get up in the morning. He said good-bye and shut the phone cover.

"Hot date?"

"Pfft. Friend date if we re going to include the word date at all."

"Didn't sound like it," Mai said, beginning to smile. Was he blushing? He quickly gauged the temperature of his face and yes, yes he definitely blushing. Definitely no more booze from here on out. But if it s not a date, she knows that too, right?

Katsuya nodded and assured her that it wasn t a date. He omitted who it was and wasn t sure why. It _was_ just two potential friends getting together. It was just because she d made that observation and if he told her now, it d be an easy running joke to start-up. One that couldn t be defended with by either silence or talking.

"Well, even if it isn t, it's good that you re getting out there. It s been a while since you ve introduced me to any other woman."

"To be fair, it's because they d think that _they_ were the other woman, with how we are. And it s not exactly like you ve been introducing me to any new men either."

"We're terrible for one another's love lives."

"But," Katsuya seized Mai's hand with mock passion, "at least we ll always have each other. We could get married. At least it d be convenient. Start a family, make my mother happy."

Mai scoffed and pulled out her hand from Jou's.

"Because your mother has always loved me so much. Rough and tumble lesbian/illegal duelling bar owner. And she's always been such a fan of my wardrobe."

"Only because you look so good in it. She's jealous."

Katsuya pulled a face, imagining for a moment his mother in Mai s choice of dress.

"And now, I have to live with that image for the rest of my life," he said, sinking his head into his arms with a scorned laugh.

"Your own damn fault, you immature brat."

Katsuya blindly flung out a hand without lifting his head, flailing in defeat. He wouldn t contend being an immature brat any further than that.

* * *

He was planing a piece of wood when he felt the tool slip out of it s motion and jerk sidelong from it s intended route. His hand had been in the wrong place (a beginners mistake, a voice cursed distantly through the panic) and he jerked it out of the way just enough so that he only nicked the side of his palm. He swore again, thick, warm red syrup catching in his opposite hand as the tool clattered to the floor.

Before he could ask for help, he was already being manhandled towards the sink by Nanazo and a medical kit was being fetched.

"It looks worse than it is," Nanazo muttered lowly. Jou nodded numbly. He couldn't feel it yet with the shock and cold water washing over it. _Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"What the hell were you thinking?" Masako asked, sounding dismayed.

Katsuya stared at the blood going down into the sink. _Wow. It just doesn t stop._

"Er. I wasn t paying attention."

"I think we noticed that."

Jou felt the grip on his wrist let go but he didn t move on his own. Out of the corner of his eye he could just make out Nanazo s face, though he already knew by the atmosphere. He was right; frustration. Nanazo had a low tolerance for idiocy, but hopefully he'd cut Katsuya some slack today. Though, that wasn t likely.

"Is this about your father?" Nanazo asked bluntly. Always to the point. "You took one day off since it happened."

"Half a day," Masako corrected.

"Do you want a few days off?" Nanazo offered.

Katsuya looked between the faces, his hand pressing a towel against the wound now, waiting for Masako to get the bandages proper. He saw her with a thread and needle and questioned it s cleanliness, but assumed that she had no intention of harming him.

"Ah, no, I m good with the schedule," he assured. What if he told them that what they thought he d been thinking about hadn t been what he d been thinking about at all? He wasn t about to take advantage of what d happened and didn t offer his explanation. It'd be Saturday tomorrow.

Though, he _had_ been thinking of other things too. But mostly about Kaiba and Saturday and if he actually had missed some important cue in their previous exchange.

Nanazo waited a moment, playing the benevolent patriarch of the family that he secretly was. Assessing that Katsuya was perfectly capable of working his schedule, he nodded and left Masako to clean up the wound. As he walked away, he inspected the wood, and nodded again, finding no blemishes. Forgetting that it d be a concern for his blood to be smeared all over it, Katsuya made a face before he sighed in relief. Masako told him not to move. He felt the needle slide into his skin. The pulling through felt bizarre.

This, he thought, was Mai's fault, for putting ideas in his head. Not that it should have been an idea at all. However, upon review the conversation on the cell phone did sound exactly as Mai had interpreted it. And he hadn t corrected her. A pile of things he d ignore so that they could pass. It wasn't his fault that Kaiba couldn't keep a regular sounding conversation, after all.

But it was his fault for allowing it all to be so easily overheard. So really, it _was_ his fault and it d just made him paranoid. He was worried about nothing. If Mai hadn't heard the conversation and hadn't been able to make a comment on it, he wouldn't be worried at all.

_Or,_ he thought glumly, _I'd be like a lamb off to the slaughter._

"Finished that," Masao announced. She examined her work and Katsuya was relieved to see that she had experience in this. She fished around the kit for some gauze.

"Now this," she said, continuing her work. "Try not to move it too much. It shouldn't take long to heal, it s just deep enough to have needed stitches. That's not too tight, is it? Okay. Good thing it's the end of the day, hm, Jounouchi?"

"Katsuya. Don t call me Jounouchi. That name belongs to my father."

Masako looked at him with reproach, but the name had jerked him out of his worries and of the throb beginning to build over his hand. The name stung. That would be a bigger problem than anything else seeing as he had to hear about it every day, but he decided at that moment to revoke the name. Maybe he d take his mother s. Or maybe he'd just ignore it completely. As long as he didn't have to hear it all the time. And maybe he'd never have to hear it all, eventually.

He hadn't meant to take advantage of his father s death, but it seemed that he just had. He thanked her and went to his locker to start walking home. So, he had been thinking of his father. Maybe his current situation with Kaiba was just the cover, a distraction. However, it was a distraction he found difficult to focus on as he made his way home for the night. He'd been thinking about calling and clarifying, but instead, he just went home to wait it out.


	4. Chapter Three: CROWD

"Tomorrow morning at ten. Does that work for you?" Seto asked. He hadn't meant to dictate a time and tacked on a question after it. It didn't make it sound better, but Jounouchi didn't comment on it. He seemed preoccupied and judging by the background noise he was at a bar or restaurant. It'd be Mai Kujaku's, Seto presumed. He'd been there several times for duelling, though never with warm reception. The woman wasn't entirely hostile with him, but she made enough cutting remarks to tell him just what she thought of him. The opinion hadn't been raised high.

"Yeah, alright. Bright and early. Sort of," Jou babbled on the other end.

"I'll see you on Saturday," Kaiba confirmed.

"Right. Talk to you then."

Seto's fingers flew over keyboard to cut the microphone and he stared at the computer monitor. It was washing him over in a blue ambience, having entered the screensaver mode in a swirling translucent blue. There was barely a moment of silence before she started in.

"Socializing? That's out of character, isn't it?" the woman's voice said, causing the visualization to pulse with her fluid, mechanized voice.

"I'm not in a character; I'm allowed," Seto corrected, hitting a key and resuming his work, disbanding the swirling pool of pixels.

"But you don't. Oh, I see; does that mean that you're _interested,_ interested? That's something different."

Seto frowned at her jeering voice and narrowed his eyes to the codes on the screen without answering, fingers flying over the characters of the keyboard in an affirming clatter.

"But Jounouchi Katsuya? Not to be prying, but I was under the impression you weren't very keen on him? Is this for a duel? Does he have something you want?" she pressed on.

"I wasn't, it's not for a duel, and that's no one's business but my own."

"Mm hm. Do you want a background check? See what the boy's been up to?"

"You know that I don't."

"I don't know that. You're callous, calculating, and a bit of a megalomaniac. But hey, I'm just the computer, I could have you all wrong. You haven't updated me in a while after all."

Seto stopped typing for a moment. "You haven't updated me in a while" was a lie. But since computers couldn't lie anymore than their programmer directed them to. Her responses weren't supposed to be this extensive or pressing; Mokuba had played with her programming. And he hadn't noticed. He felt himself amused. Anyone else and he'd have their job terminated three ways from Sunday and digitally wipe them off the face of the planet. But it wasn't anyone else, it was Mokuba and there was a flare of pride in knowing that his brother could so efficiently hack his computer externally like that on what Seto could assume to be some spare time. _Brat._

"Remind me to reprogram you," Seto informed her brusquely.

"When?"

* * *

Seto drove downtown and parked several blocks away where his car would be at least out of sight from the Saturday crowds of swarming teenagers and mothers out shopping with there kids. He wouldn't tempt some punk kids to trash the vehicle.

Being spring, the air was clean with rain and he was partial to walking, despite the tactile manoeuvring it'd take to get past all the open stands and browsing passer-bys. It reminded him of Tokyo, though from city to city, that didn't bring memories of nostalgia so much as reflexive memory in how to orient himself; carefully. The only times he ever went to places like these were with Mokuba. For himself, there'd never been an appeal. On a deep level, he felt the repulsion surge forwards closer to the surface for a moment. He didn't like crowds, not because they ignited any phobia. It was a matter of it being a crowd of _people,_ concerned with frivolous collections of junk, packed together like herds of cattle, bumping into one another, rudely insistent vendors and pan handlers--

"You should relax. Sure, you might be a foot taller or more than most of the kids around here, but shouldn't that intimidate them, not you?" Jounouchi said as he approached out from one of the narrow streets. Seto frowned, and didn't dignify the accusation. Jou wore a crooked smile. Disarming, Seto felt his facial muscles relax away from the scowl he hadn't noticed carving it's way onto his face. It passed in thought that he should mention to the blonde that he neither seemed relaxed about this meeting either, despite whatever smile he wore. His shoulders were drawn tight and he seemed eager to be on the move.

Seto had thought about how the intent of the meeting hadn't been clearly outlined by either party. They were equally at fault for this, though for different reasons. Seto wasn't confused, he was investigative. Or manipulative. Depends on the angle you watched from. What did Jou think he was getting into? Anyone else would have known what the interest from Seto's end would have meant. However, instead of holding it against him, when Jou asked about it he'd be honest. He could see the question burning away at him. And if he didn't ask it, well, there was a certain pleasure in watching him squirm and figure it out for himself. Besides, Jounouchi had been the one to call him in the first place either because he was getting a clue or because he still was or wasn't over what'd happened with his father. It didn't matter which, seeing as he'd shown up.

On his hand, Jou had gauze. It was difficult not to look. He followed Seto's gaze with his own and then held up the tightly wound palm as though just realizing it's obviousness.

"Accident at work," he stated.

"There's a story there."

He didn't answer immediately, allowing Seto watched him struggling to find a way to hide the reason without looking as though he were trying to hide a reason. But he was at a disadvantage. Knowing when a person was lying or trying to skew the truth in their favour was a skills Seto used everyday, and used effectively. He had an instinct for it. But he didn't need Jou to tell him. And he didn't need to call him out on it.

"Was thinking about…too much. Never mind, it was stupid," Jou finally settled.

Through his sunglasses, Seto watched placidly as he allowed room for Jou to continue if he changed his mind. He didn't and dropped his bandaged hand for a moment, but slid it into his pocket in moments. He was a bad liar, but that wasn't news. It was easy to guess what'd he'd been thinking about. Too much was exactly what he was thinking about.

"Alright."

Seto pulled off his sunglasses and traded them for his glasses, slipping the tinted lenses into the breast pocket of his jacket. It was inconvenient to carry both pairs, but clip-on shades were tacky. He would have worn his contacts, but didn't want to be recognized so easily by anyone and opted on using sunglasses to obscure his face. Jounouchi on the other hand, seemed more careless or underestimating of who might recognize him. Despite not being as intimately involved with the duelling scene as of late, he was still well known enough to cause a fuss by certain circles or merit deluded challenges from a beginner duellist or hot-headed novice who didn't have the skill to back up their words.

On this tangent, it was difficult for Seto to suppress a smile, thinking of Jounouchi's own deluded challenges made in the past. Less amusing Seto found was how he'd always eventually entertained these challenges. Sharply, he directed his attention back to the present. He felt an awkward vibration radiating off of the man at his side.

"How's it feel to be among the common folk?" Jounouchi continued as they began walking down the single vehicle street. Not that any vehicle would be able to get out at the end as it was obstructed by bright and gaudy stands selling cheap knock-offs and small gadgets that looked dubious in their build.

"As long as they keep to their business and allow me to keep to mine, it's survivable."

Jou laughed.

"It's not all bad," Jou assured. "This place, I don't know if you know or anything, but they have the best cakes in town. I should know. I investigated."

Seto wouldn't admit that he wasn't a an avid consumer of sweet things here. Jounouchi seemed genuinely excited about this.

"That's what Mokuba said. If I recall correctly, it was very good."

Jounouchi bounded a step ahead to get the door as they approached, his nervousness getting the better of him. He knew what this meeting was, somewhere in his dense skull. Stepping through, Seto cast a glance and began to lead towards a seat by the window, favouring the outdoor light to the dim ambience that drifted through the bass lined music quietly humming around the walls. He hung his jacket over the back of the chair and watched Jounouchi follow suit and inspected his attire. He'd worn faded jeans and a deep green tee-shirt with what appeared to be a yellow illustration of a squid. Overtop he was still wearing a brown zip-up. He looked simultaneously casual and presentable and made Seto feel flashy, though all he'd worn himself were a pair of dark washed jeans and a crimson long-sleeve button-up.

The waitress came by and took their order, Jou ordering one of the slices of torte for them to share (he'd observed the enormous slices as he ordered being stared at by a pair of girls in dismay the next table over). A pair of coffees were poured in mismatched mugs already placed on the table with the cutlery. This happened in silence punctuated at the end by a polite thank-you for each service rendered.

"So ah, how have you been?" Jounouchi asked the waitress left to cut the torte. To Seto, this seemed like something he should have taken the initiative to ask first. He imagined that Jou would be weary of the question by now however, so he made no note to amend this fact. Being asked this question had thrown him off as well though. He tried not to sound unprepared for the question, but nonetheless he could only give the trite answer of 'working' before he could think of something more interesting, though in truth, it _was_ his most practiced activity. From him, it sounded doubly ridiculous. But he could elaborate on what they were working on.

"We've been working on new duelling systems, perfecting the virtual environment systems. They're similar to the virtual pods but in a headset format. It hasn't been perfected for a mass scale yet. Or a cost effective one."

Jounouchi looked genuinely interested, a good sign.

"How much do each of those things run? I remember using those things and knowing that they were some high-tech pieces of machinery, but I never asked how much it cost in case I ended up breaking them."

Seto smiled slyly. He didn't intend it to appear that way, he was honestly amused after all. Not asking about the price as though it would have prevented him from having to pay for it…that was defiantly something Jou would do.

"They're 60k currently. That's more than the virtual pods, but even at an experimental stage, far superior."

Jou's mouth pressed and his brows furrowed.

"I'm not even sure how much something like that could wrack up a cost like that…but I guess it's not any different than an expensive car or something. Jesus. 60k? How's someone like me supposed to afford something like that?"

"KaibaCorp doesn't sell anything from that category for more than what an average household can afford. And if we do, it's not as interesting. The people who do spend their money on our more pricey, custom works, only do it for the prestige. Most of those people wouldn't be able duel themselves out of a paper bag with an opening on each end."

"And that's what really counts," Jou agreed, laughing. Seto was thinking of a certain man with one eye. Who was Jou thinking of? Whomever it was, it was interrupted by the torte landing on the centre of the table between the two of them, a fork turned each way. It'd be easier to talk now that the venue of duelling was opened. Jou had been thinking of Insekuta Haga, it was revealed after he sampled a corner of the torte. He'd been in a duel with Yuugi not to long ago; flattened. Jou shared a tidbit about the cockroach trying to get into _Harpy's Den_ only to be forcibly removed before he could get a single word in by Kujaku herself. He talked a bit more about some of the intimate details of the clandestine duellist hang-out. Interesting, save that it revolved around what Kujaku told him.

Hearing Jou talk about Kujaku, though it was not in excess, agitated Seto. She appeared to pose no threat, despite some intentionally vague statements Jou made in his reiterations about her bar. Nonetheless, it caused an agitation. The type that competition made. Seto wasn't pleased with this development; it was going too quickly. It defied reasonable progressions of logic. He shouldn't be so threatened already. Despite having a more clearly defined interest himself, Seto knew just as little about where things would end as Jounouchi did.

* * *

"Do you ever think about getting back into the duelling scene again? The way that we used to be?"

"There needs to be a new generation of them before I even consider it. It's a matter of patience."

"That's what the Academy is for."

Seto nodded, sipping the last bit of his second cup of his coffee. Cold. He resisted spitting it back out. Jou turned the plate for the last piece of torte towards Seto as an offer. When Seto refused it he dove in after it.

"Definitely the best in town," Jou confirmed. "It makes sense. I don't feel so bad doing what I'm doing knowing that Duel Monsters isn't dying out. Yuugi said he's glad to be in it to help encourage the new duellists to play, to keep the challenge there. Rebecca's the same. We all have our own reasons for playing."

"Yours started as a way to help your sister."

Jou nodded,

"And now she doesn't need it. I love the game, but…I need to be close to the family. Besides I can play at Mai's whenever. I don't know how you and Mokuba do it, being apart for so long."

Seto shrugged, suppressing a smile as he remembered his brother's overstepping on the computer's programming. They kept together in a different way, as best they could. He sent back a few little modifications on Mokuba's system; digital sparring. How long it'd take for him to notice would be interesting. Presumably, Mokuba didn't know that Seto had discovered the modifications.

The same nervousness that'd cast over Jou at the beginning of the outing returned. It'd gone once they started talking.

"Speaking of kids, I have to go pick up my sister's for the night."

He'd just remembered the subtext. Seto watched to see what Jounouchi would do with it. He stared for several moments, unsure of how he wanted to ask. If he could. It'd be easy to goad him into asking, but Seto waited instead. The question didn't make it into the air.

"Er…well," Jou muttered, beginning to fish around his jacket. He pulled out his wallet and excused himself for a moment to pay at the till. Seto scoffed. So he'd wait. Though there was still time for Jou to ask, he could already sense that the moment had passed. Glancing out the window, Seto examined a piece of sky; cloudy. It looked as dim outside as it did inside the coffee shop now, a twilight glow that came before a shower. When Jou came back he offered a ride, but Jou insisted that he'd just take the train. Seto wouldn't push; Jou looked as though he wanted to clean up his exit as quickly as possible. Jou began to pull on his jacket. Black, zippered, multi-pocketed, cloth. He pulled the hood of the zip-up out overtop. Layers; but if it rained enough, it'd soak him through. His loss.

"Um, well. It was good to see you. You ah, know my number," Jou offered. Seto kept his face a blank slate, but laughter was building up in his chest. So he wouldn't ask the question, but he'd set himself up for it all over again. Glutton for punishment. Jounouchi gave a wave as he headed towards the door. Before exiting Jounouchi paused, halfway out. Would he spit it out? No. Seto still wasn't surprised, enjoying watching Jounouchi agonize over it.

"Don't forget to tip, rich jerk!" he called out with a grin. It looked genuine, and not a product of his current uncharacteristic timidity. Maybe he saw the humour in it too.

Seto scoffed and reached around for his own wallet and did as he was told though he hadn't needed the reminder. It let Jounouchi leave with a piece of normality to their exchange and that seemed fair. Courtesy, after all. Even if he was manipulating him. Jou didn't know that yet. At this point, he'd think that it was all in his head. It could stay there, for now. None of Jou's friends or family would know about this either. It amused Seto to imagine Jou trying to explain himself. That'd come later.

Pulling on his jacket, Seto left, walking back to the car park. A block away, it began to rain. As he was stepping in, it began to pour. It was unlikely that Jou was already on the train.

* * *

It was still early in the day when Seto arrived at his condo. He hadn't been expecting anyone to be there. This was a natural thing, because he lived alone, and the housekeeping came in the mornings even when they weren't needed. There'd be no other time that they'd come without him knowing.

"Mokuba," he greeted, looking between his younger brother's scowling face and the host of medications laid out on the dining room table. "Overly dramatic presentation. But you get your point across. When did you get in, you didn't mention coming to Domino any time soon."

Seto spoke casually, already feeling the energy of an argument gathering in the air. They'd fought enough for him to know the atmosphere. It was thick, and pressed on his throat. It was trying to coax things out of him; loud things that cut. And that would happen.

"Don't fuck around, Seto. I decided I wanted to come home for a visit, talk to you about the wedding because we haven't decided where to do it yet. But I found this and it seems a bit more important at the moment. You weren't going to tell me?"

"No. Because you weren't going to find out."

"And why's that?"

Mokuba was standing now and the edge on his voice was starting to tear through into another decibel. He was moving towards him now. Most people would have been intimidated by the distant space the still remained between them, but Mokuba had spent his whole life in open space, an afforded luxury that taught the confidence he'd grown into.

"Because it was none of your business," Seto said coldly. He was lying. It was his brother's business. But it sounded better than admitting that his brother had every right to now. Deserved to know. But it was in their nature to antagonize. At least in Seto's nature. Mokuba was made of something else, but he knew _how_ to antagonize. _He should, learning from the me all his life, after all,_ Seto thought dryly.

Mokuba was quick and didn't have to think far as to what he was going to say next. Their life, running companies, charities; it was all about presentation, quick thinking. They had to be proactive, they had to be on the top of their game at all times. They couldn't afford mistakes because mistakes meant losing trust and respect be it from colleagues, competitors, or employees. Also, Mokuba had had time to know what he was going to say, which made it all the worse. The fun Seto'd been having (yes, fun, he did know what that was) with Jounouchi earlier went out of his sight.

"When did it happen, Seto? How long have you been hiding it? _How_ did it happen? Though I don't need to guess far."

"I wasn't an idiot about it. Are you suggesting that I let myself get carried away?"

Mokuba laughed, though Seto couldn't find what was funny. Surely, his brother would kindly tell him in a moment. He didn't fail to meet expectations.

"Fuck, Seto, you're all about getting carried away. Everyone's seen how you get when your competing. Everyone's seen what you build for it, what you put KaibaCorp's research money into. But, you go a step further. You act like it's nothing. Which is a the worst part. No one ever knows if you're happy. All they ever see is either competition or ambition, and it really just depends on how much they're getting paid. No one knows when you're happy, and that includes myself. It's no wonder you go on like you do with a different person--"

Seto seized Mokuba's wrist, which had become animate as he went off into his railing, voice growing louder and more penetrating as he went on. His focus had gotten so narrowed on the younger man's passionate outburst that it was enough to forget where he was. The condo crashed back down around him now and he was surprised at how cold his own hand was against the skin of his brother's wrist..

"There was nothing wrong with what I was doing. I didn't do it carelessly, and I didn't do it because I was trying to fix something. I did it," Seto let go and moved towards the medications to put them back in their proper place, "because I wanted to. Because I enjoyed it."

Mokuba didn't answer immediately. He was finding something that pleased him about his older brother's manner of speech.

"You're speaking in the past tense."

"Very astute. Yes, I'm speaking in the past tense, because that's where it is."

This would only placate Mokuba for a moment, who'd been all too knowledgeable about Seto's previous habits. He knew him too well, and Seto hadn't ever tried to hide it from him. Even if he had, Mokuba had a _particular knack_ for figuring things out on his own about his brother. The moment ended.

"But you still weren't going to tell me," Mokuba hissed. How quickly they remember that they're angry. People, that was. And he and Mokuba were as much people as anyone else.

"No," Seto responded shortly. It was difficult to carry all the bottles back at once, but he seemed to be managing.

"Why!"

Seto didn't turn to meet his brothers demands, instead continuing on his route to put everything back where it belonged. Out of sight. The bottles went spilling out of his hands as he was grabbed on the shoulder and asked the question again.

"WHAT?" Seto shouted back, losing the last of his patience with this. He shoved Mokuba back harder than he'd meant too and the young man staggered. "Because it was me!"

Mokuba's eyes went wide into surprise but they quickly clouded back over into anger.

"Because it was you?"

"Because it was me," Seto confirmed, evening out his tone again as he repeated it. Because it was him. That was the only thing he'd thought about since it'd happened. He'd been immaculate, he'd always taken the proper precautions and he'd always known what he wanted. Despite all this, the micromanaging and requirement of absolute control, it'd still been _him._ "Though I'd never gotten _carried away_, it was still me. And eventually, I'll get sick. And eventually, I'll have to be taken care of until I _die,_ rendered so incapably weak that I won't be able to feed myself, never mind maintain this company that _I_ built."

"So you weren't going to tell me because you were embarrassed that you'd have to rely on someone like me to take care of you? Someone lesser? You're a _selfish coward._"

Seto felt it. It was like slipping on ice, limbs going in all the wrong directions and falling hard.

"BECAUSE I'M YOUR OLDER BROTHER AND I'VE ALWAYS TAKEN CARE OF _YOU._ I'm the one who always made sure that no one bullied you when you were a kid, I made sure that you got a good education, I made sure that there was always enough for the both of us. I took care of you ever since our parents were gone. I didn't leave you in that shit hole orphanage because I _can't_ do anything without you, because there're _wouldn't be a point._ This whole company, was built on an idea you had in a _sand box,_ because I wanted to make _you happy."_

Seto felt as though he were going to choke on the noxious outpouring of emotions and accusations he was going to regret later. Right now though, watching each statement flash across Mokuba's face, felt very relieving.

But not the way that he liked to greet his brother. It was too messy. There was no control to this method. He might banter and trash talk during duels, know how to give orders, know how to run a fucking company with a mechanical efficiency but he couldn't keep his temper with Mokuba. And it wasn't the cold disposition he was known for, brittle remarks and firings made during office hours. It was hot, corrosive and burned indiscriminately. He didn't mean anything he'd just said. They just sounded like a good way to hurt someone more than he hurt himself.

Mokuba sneered. He knew exactly what'd just happened.

"You needed to tell me. And you didn't."

It took two stubborn attitudes like theirs to have an argument as sloppy as this one. But this one didn't feel like he had the right to argue it any further. Mokuba was right.

Seto took a breath,

"I'm sorry. Please leave."

Mokuba gave a look, rolled his eyes, scoffed. To him, it sounded ludicrous. But Seto didn't apologize without meaning it; and that's the part he kept.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Fine. Do whatever you want. I have work to do," Seto answered, beginning to pick up the bottles. He didn't feel Mokuba watching him as he walked away. That was good. He wasn't treating him like he was ill.

But that didn't change the fact that he knew now. It'd didn't change the fact that someday, he would be ill. That he'd be dying and there'd be nothing that anyone could do about it. The velleity to greet death on his own terms before that happened pulsed.

But he wouldn't, and would suffer the indignity instead. And that fear far outmatched his one of life ending.


	5. Chapter Four: DROP

He'd made it to the station before the rain got to getting down too hard, but by time he got to his sister s he was positively drenched. Not that there was anything positive about it. It felt good though, refreshing in it's own way, if he weren t thinking about _just_ how cold it really was. When he stepped into Shizuka s he began to shake his hair out.

"Just like a dog," Honda hissed, caught in the shower before proper greetings could be exchanged. "Don't move."

Katsuya stopped, dripping onto the carpet. Honda disappeared around the corner and re-emerged moments later with a towel, holding it out for him.

"Hiroto, is that my brother?" Shizuka called from somewhere in the house. Neither of them needed to answer, or could have, as an approaching thunderous smattering of gum booted feet stomped across the floor. Twins. Hatsume and Shinya, one boy, one girl and two names that made them sound like sisters. Shinya was only just beginning to hate his parents for that one. Katsuya made certain that the kid knew that when they d been born, he d been dead set against the name choice. This made him the coolest uncle ever. That and he played any variety of games in the groupings of tag and hide and seek .

Shizuka followed after in her quiet grace, though her eyes darted, harried, between her two children. The twins were only six-years-old; this was a perfectly normal expression for her to have. She smiled through it when she saw her brother, though this time it seemed more strained than usual. Or rather, like it was his fault. Dealing with their father s death or rather, how he didn t, had been a point of contention. He hadn t lifted a finger, even having to be coerced into going to the cremation by Mai in the end. Of course he felt like crap about it. He d have done more if it meant that he didn t have to see that fragile near-breaking look on Shizuka s face,. Her silent trying to understand and trying to rationalize his absence and the outright admonishment against anything related to their father. They hadn t been talking as frequently. Honda looked between them, still sensing the residuals of it and still not knowing what to say.

"Can we get a movie?" Hatsume asked, seizing his hand. "Can we get gummy bears!"

She was always the more forceful of the two. Shinya watched expectantly from beside her, disposition calm. A polar opposite from his sister.

"They've been asking for you all day," Shizuka said. The fragile look was wiped away as she changed the topic in her mind. She could do that, with the kids. Once she focused on them, nothing else mattered. A good mother. Katsuya s own mother made her way slowly behind them. It was becoming very crowded in the doorway and he felt his body grow wary. Such a busy household; it was too much. His mother nodded at him, acknowledging but saying nothing. She was upset about his lack of involvement. He bowed back slightly, politely over the chatter of Hatsume and Shizuka. One day, he d need to talk to his mother, he thought. But this wasn t the right time, even as the words burned on the inside of his mouth. Whether or not it would ever be time to talk about it now was unknown. Each time he considered it, he was afraid that she wouldn t remember and would call him a liar or misinterpret, or just forget. She watched him placidly.

It was too much here.

"Do you want a change of clothes?" Honda asked. _Yes,_ an indigent voice spat from the back of his head through the chatter of cold. But his mouth was, for once, not taking the bait of his foot and getting him out of a situation instead of into one.

"No, thanks, we should probably just get going so we can catch the next train," Katsuya said. Hatsume made a face. "And get a movie, and gummy bears."

"Alright. The both of you have everything you need? Hatsume, do you have the drawings you wanted to show your uncle?"

Hatsume nodded distractedly, pulling the door open with her free hand, the other still in his. The chilled air added to the cold setting into his skin as it gently gusted through. It pulled on the back of his soaked jacket.

"Okay, looks like it s time to go," Jou offered with a grimaced smile, "I'll bring them back around two tomorrow, then?"

He allowed himself to be brought out onto the walkway between the door and the gate by little hands, one from each twin in each of his own now. Hatsume chattered on about her arts and crafts projects at school and Shinya allowed her too, rarely speaking at all. This wasn t uncommon for him. He spoke so infrequently that it worried his parents, but it was something Katsuya found very admirable; when the boy did speak, it was sparingly and thereby infinitely more effective in getting him what he wanted. It was actually very clever. With Hatsume, it was very easy to say no, but whenever Shinya asked for something for himself, it stunned people long enough into reflexively saying yes. Even if he wasn t aware of this effect, it still existed on some instinctual level and it wouldn t be something he d need to harness in the future.

In the video store, the twins made a well-tread beeline for the cartoon section, their uncle trailing behind slowly. The clerk looked him up and down sullenly, apparently disinterested about his sopping trail of spring showers and returning to punching in the barcodes of returned movies. Katsuya shrugged and felt himself beginning to have to resist the reflex of chattering teeth too loudly. Should have toughed it out and stayed for that extra pair of clothes and maybe something waterproof. This is what he got for trying to make himself publicly presentable. He d nearly go as far to blame Kaiba for this, but Kaiba had nothing to do with it; hell, he d even offered a ride. Katsuya had the nagging feeling however, that if he d gotten a ride, he d be tempted to invite Kaiba in and then, then if he d said yes it sent a shudder down his spine. But that might have been the cold. It would have been uncomfortable, that was all. Who knows how the kids would have reacted to someone as intimidating as Kaiba?

_Actually, Hatsume d probably just grill him about duel monsters,_ Katsuya thought realistically. It was difficult for a child to _not_ be captivated by duel monsters with the ever evolving digital systems used to play them on. Even children as young as Hatsume and Shinya had a basic understanding of the game. National pastime, more, and further more permeated into the country as the years went by. That made a little glow in his chest.

A DVD case was thrust upwards toward him.

"This one?" Hatsume asked. Shinya was still looking at the shelves, pulling out movies at random and looking at the back. He could read on his own, Katsuya realized. Thinking on how long it _hadn t_ been since he d last taken the twins for the night, this was surprising. Hatsume, judging by the aggressive colours on the cover the DVD, still choose by the pictures.

"Let's see what your brother has first," Katsuya said. It caused an expression of extreme distaste on her face. She didn t argue however, impatiently waiting for Shinya to make a decision.

* * *

"Hey, Jounouchi-kun," the smiling man at the door said. Immediately, he knew what this was and it gave him time to usher the kids into the apartment. He d be right in. The door closed heavily and he glowered back the man. Someone he used to know; someone who wanted something. The empty realities of his father s passing filled with red. The old man wasn t gone yet.

"What are you doing here?" Katsuya asked venomously. A collector. He was already trying to calculate just how much his father could possibly owe.

"Unfinished business," the man stated flatly, all pleasantries gone. "Your old man owed us some money, kid. You need to pay up; twelve grand."

Katsuya balked; that wasn t exactly the number he d just begun envisioning. How did a man on his deathbed wrack up a debt of twelve grand his son wouldn t ever be able to, or consider, paying? The answer to that was easy; it d happened before that and interest had built up.

"Not my problem."

But of course it was going to be his problem. He glanced at the marred and melted looking skin below the mans left eye; the man's name was Itsuda and he was going to be a problem. The chances of him having restructured his collecting methods were not only unlikely, but entirely unfeasible. Katsuya felt his anger rising and heart sinking as he knew exactly where this would be going. They'd threaten him; they d comment on the kids, his sister, his mother. They'd comment on his job, and make assumptions that as an up and coming, he'd have money. That because he duelled and duelled well, he d be able to make quick cash. He didn t have money, not like that, and definitely not on the drop of a hat. Even with duelling well, he'd been in the game long enough to know that riding twelve grand on one duel was stupid and could set you off even deeper. Even if he did it in smaller increments, there was going to be a timeline this and he did not expect it to be merciful. He waited to hear all of this from Itsuda.

But Itsuda didn't have to go through these motions.

"Let's cut to the chase, kid, we want our money, you don t got it, but there s still a debt to be paid. You used to run with a pretty rough crowd, hey kid? Did some bad, nasty stuff to people think you still got it in you now that you re all grown up?"

Katsuya stared, evaluating; Itsuda didn't have to make that offer. Shit, in that world, the guy was doing him a _favour._ Why? Because his father always eventually made good on his debts and this merited some leeway for the son? Itsuda was impervious to revealing any of his own thoughts on the offer. His face was stone still, and his body reclined casually against the wall. He didn t fidget. This was meant to intimidate, but it was also how Itsuda naturally held himself. Katsuya could remember, that even though he never saw Itsuda in any regular frequency that each time he did, the man set him on hackles. That was fear. It was different now. All he felt was a mounting rage.

"Fuck you," he spat. He began to turn the knob to the door, but cringed as a hand was laid on his shoulder. It wasn t fear that d done that. It was almost like Itsuda was trying to reassure him. But Katsuya felt his thought lilting off to one side and the gesture might have been intended as a way to threaten him. It was difficult to tell. The life his father had lived was one that made it difficult to measure real loyalties.

"Look, kid. I'm sorry about your pops, he was a good guy somewhere in there, underneath his habits. I'm just trying to make this quick and easy. Just think about it. You know how these things are. I'll be in touch."

_I know all too well._

Itsuda rested his hand a moment longer, clapped his shoulder and left with heavy footsteps. Big, tough, old bastard. Doing him a favour as best he could. But there was nothing Katsuya could appreciate about it, seething as he watched the retreating-- no, leaving; retreating meant escaping and Katsuya hadn t done anything to frighten the guy-- figure. He slammed a fist against his door, took a deep breath and wondered how he d explain the noise to the kids if they asked and stepped back in.

Twelve. Fucking. Grand. He had almost six and a half saved for himself. For a raining fucking day. For emergencies, nothing overly imposing but enough for the _just in case._ He was working on it. Suddenly he wished he d learned some savvy in stocks or something, learn to flip a profit as well as well Kaiba, for starters, though Otogi came to mind. But that was them and this was him. Him and his father. Hands attached to his wrists wavered unsteadily, as though taking a volition all their own. Suggestive that he take up Itsuda s offer because it d be _quick_ and it'd be _easy _and then it d all be over with.

But it wouldn t be over with. Once you d gone in, on a job like that, there weren't a lot of ways out other than disappearing. Disappearing was not an option. This city was his _home_ where he had family and friends and a career and none of these things would allow him to simply pack up and leave. The only option was to do something that either made a statement of fuck off which could go just as badly as taking the offer, or, rolling over and playing passively. Paying the debt off and set straight what was wrong. _Shit._

The kids didn t ask any questions. Hatsume didn t seem to even notice; Shinya tactfully followed her reaction. Six and a half still left another five and a half that wasn t going to come out of thin air or off a damn tree. He picked at the bandage around his palm. Materials were so expensive that even if something sold for five and half, that d screw him over for the next couple of projects. That wasn t money he could touch. Just the money he d saved. The twins had pulled out the old game system tucked in the closet and were untangling the wires. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine a way to make this go away. Nothing useful came to mind.

Any number of people would gladly offer him the money. However, there was the matter of pride sticking in his throat already stopping him from asking them for help. He could handle this himself. Thinking lead him to thoughts of what to do to cut personal expenses. There wasn t much; rent was murder, but moving would be more expensive still. Then the other bills; could he manage without a cell phone? Not without a land line. He d cut the cable he groaned. That was what, thirty-five bucks a month? Not exactly a groundbreaking saving.

There was Mai. He trusted her with his pride but didn t trust her stubbornness. There was no way that she could understand what these people would do over a measly twelve grand. Well, measly he assumed in the context of their grand imports and exports and loan sharking. Besides, he didn t want to have everything riding on duels under her scrutinizing and judgemental eye.

_But if there isn't another way_.

"I'm just going to take a quick shower kids," he informed, the wetness of his clothing robbing him of circulatory functions.

The fabric of his jeans were difficult to peel off in their water saturated state and forced him to move slowly, though his hands were still shaking with anger. He removed the bandage gingerly and frowned as he thought about having to redress the wound, still raw and tender. It looked viciously clinical, Masako s work impeccable. It'd begun to bleed from hitting the door; he'd have to get that fixed. Profane words punctuated his developing enterprises. Definitely still had it in him, that anger but his conscious and heart overshadowed it now. That was a good thing and now it was a chip in the shoulder against him. Things were crumbling. The worst part of it all was having known how it was going to happen and knowing that there was no way to stop it. There were some things you could sense before they came; this was the one that d woken him up one morning and threatened to come to his doorstep for weeks.

* * *

Katsuya was relieved to bring the kids back to his sister the following afternoon. This wasn t a feeling he enjoyed experiencing, given that one of his favourite things to do was to spend time with his niece and nephew. Itsuda s visit had clouded over his evening with them, a grievous insult that d picked away at his mood through their entire visit. He acted his best to be the fun and doting uncle. It must have worked; even Shizuka didn t pick up that something was wrong. It was that infernal husband of hers, his best friend, the cop, that picked up that something was afoot. Of course. Katsuya leaned against the vending machine Honda conveniently required a can of juice from.

"So, what s the damage?" he asked, pressing the coins through and filling in the requests of the household. "What's the damage?" How could he ask it so casually?

"Nothing I can tell you for legal reasons. Let's just say the old man hasn t been put to rest yet."

Honda slid a glace sidelong, not having to fathom very far to understand Katsuya's meaning. Unfinished business with the deceased Jounouchi would only mean one of several things and all of those several things were something that a police officer would be better off not acknowledging aloud.

Putting the old man to rest; Shizuka had her way of doing it. Seemed that his way still had to be put through to send the old bastard off to the heaven s above. Honda put each can into the bag as it clattered out from the bottom. Finished, he straightened and his brow was furrowed, but, for legal reasons, Katsuya could tell that his tongue was caught. Not that Honda would ever turn him in if he illegally duelled for cash. But if heard about Itsuda's offer and the circumstances that tempted Katsuya to take up on the offer well he d have to do something then.

So far, luckily, circumstance was no excuse and his conscious prevented him from saying yes to the offer. The favour. They'd only do something that drastic if he didn't have a plan to pay them back, so there was no reason to sink to their level just yet and hopefully not at all. But then again, who knew how long that money had been in waiting? And there wasn't anything saying that his father hadn't owed anyone else atop of that. Katsuya sighed and looked over to Honda apologetically.

"I'll find a way," he assured.

"Anything I can do to help?"

Katsuya shook his head no,

"Nothing."

They held an evaluating gaze for a moment but broke it as they agreed on the reality of how it was. They'd known each other long enough and Katsuya had no intention of compromising Honda's well-earned reputation. He was up for a detectives shield. Compromising that, Katsuya would never forgive himself and would be lucky if Honda did. And he _would_ find a way. He always did. And it definitely was not going to be by playing enforcer for some rat bastards trying to get money from other rat bastards. There was one advantage he had and that was his duelling skills. It wasn t the safest route, but if that was how it had to be, he knew some people who could get him into some fair duels; he d do this as cleanly as possible. He could even do it without having to turn to Mai. He massaged the palms of his hands over his eyes and onto his the sides of his temples. The bandage scrapped along his face roughly.

"I just can't believe that I can still get sucked into this shit," Katsuya said, emerging from his meditative massage. It hadn t helped. He glanced at the cigarette vending machine beside the one for the juices longingly. But that was a old habit he had no intention of picking up again. Not exactly the example he wanted to perpetuate for the kids. Not exactly the health risks he was interested in running. Honda eyed him suspiciously, but Katsuya shrugged and pushed off of the machine s walls and began walking back towards the house. Honda fell into step beside him.

"Look, if there s anything I can do to help, lend you some money or--"

"Are you kidding? You have to take care of Shizuka and the kids." And the house. And so on, and so forth.

"Still."

"No. There s nothing you can do. I'll deal, don t worry about it. Could be worse."

"Always the optimist."

"Shit yeah. So how's the flower arranging going?"

Honda blushed. It seemed that his time in the Beautification Club hadn't worn off and he'd agreed to the tutelage of a friend of friend's mother from work. Very hush-hush, but he'd confessed in a state of slight inebriation on a boys night out to the bartender and Katsuya.

"Well, thank-you," Honda grinded out. "You changed the time to pick up the kids yesterday; why? Not because of the thing about your father, right? You seemed fine when you came to get them."

Before he could remind himself to behave naturally, just take things in stride, he felt his face twitch and Honda watching him and catching it all. And his face was burning the more that he knew he was being watched, thereby revealing to the all powerful cop instincts that it was something personal in the nature of personal relations. Or whatever the hell it was.

"Oh, nothing really. Just had some errands."

For the life of him, Katsuya had no idea why he was trying to lie when the evidence was stacked so highly against his claim. Maybe because in it's own way, withholding information was entertaining. Especially when someone assumed the wrong thing but thought that they had it right. The flush was cause by thinking about the affect Mai's commentary had had on the meeting. But he was still lying; he felt his insides plummet and flutter limply for life somewhere on the ground trailing behind him.

"Can't wait to meet her," Honda said, nudging him with an elbow, boys only.

Katsuya was tempted to say something along the lines of oh, you already know them or oh, the irony is , but it more mortified him to think of those phrases at all than to use it to string along a false assumption. Instead, he held his tongue convincing himself that he knew better than to dig himself into a grave by now. He had other things to worry about anyways.

* * *

"Hey, want to come over and grab a movie?"

What a strange tumbling of words to say with Kaiba in mind for the receiving end. He watched his face in the mirror, which was funny because on telephones, you can t see how the person is saying something with their expression. It tickled the tip of his tongue to say it, but his face had been more or less stationary. Resolved, at most. But that didn t matter, he was just trying it out. Besides, he wasn t sure exactly what message he wanted to convey and this might only be a proactive prevention exercise to make sure that he wasn t just giving out ideas. There were other questions he wanted to try out too;

"Mom, I want to take your last name, Kawai."

It wasn't a question so much as a statement or demand, but still, it was sort of like asking. With that one it might just be best to come out and say it. But it didn t look like he d entirely meant it. He d have to work on his look of earnestness, even though he wanted it so badly. Maybe the lack of earnestness on that was because of the reluctance to take his mother s name given how things were between them more often than not. However, having it be the only other viable option meant it was definitely the best choice after his own surname. His mother s name didn t feel right though. It d passed into consideration to just make a name up, but he wanted a name that meant something to him, not something just entirely false and meaningless. He frowned.

There was also;

"Fuck you, I don't owe you shit."

But that probably wouldn t satisfy anything but his anger. He certainly looked angry, steely; like the old days. Like someone who could bust someone up without putting in any real effort. That face unnerved him, but maybe if he could use it to his advantage Katsuya doubted it though. Itsuda would likely just laugh in his face and talk him down and lay it out straight by force. And he didn t need to be explaining away injuries. Namely because no one believed the excuses for things like that no matter how good and plausible they sounded. And then keeping up with the lie when he was younger he d always countered that with saying nothing at all or just admitting to the truth.

He turned on the cold water and washed his face. It was still early in the day. Then the first question came back again.

The air compressed violently into his lungs as he gasped to the piercing ring of his cell phone. When had he turned it on so loud? It wasn't a number he recognized; Kaiba's name would have come up as a contact.

"Hello," he greeted. Beside him he reached for a towel, but his fingers hit the edge of the wall instead. It was laundry day.

"Itsuda. Have you considered the offer?"

The anger went ablaze again.

"No," he barked, "because there isn't anything to consider. I'll make the money some other way."

"No need to get testy, kid. I didn't really think that you would take us up on that, but just in case we can always use some extra--"

"Fuck off. How long do I have?"

"Two months. And you'll be glad to know that we're the only ones who your old man had a debt with. Fucker borrowed money from us to pay off everyone else. Sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect, him being...two months. Good luck."

The other line went quiet and the dial tone droned a few moments later. He was surprised at how easy it d been to shoot down Itsuda's offer, it'd been entirely reflexive. Some part of him regretted declining it so vehemently, but it'd be for the better. That little part kicked him in the shins and shouted 'idiot!'.

Itsuda had been and likely still was a fair man in his own way. He had a streak of empathy if Katsuya remembered correctly, or at least a sense of obligation to his father, for whatever reason... Itsuda was trying to make things easier on him. But Katsuya didn t want easy and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with his father. And he d never wanted easy, even when he complained that he did. Things that just _came,_ that just _happened?_ Those were the times he was left in awe with the suspicion of things going just as easily as they came. It'd be enjoyable for a while but it d always be right back to the same old thing before, wanting and needing and never quite being able to get it. It was difficult to remember having when you hadn t really worked for it. Hoping for the best just didn t cut it anymore; he d grown out of that. The only one who was ever going to get anything accomplished was himself and he could accept that. Help could come along the way, but it was up to him to determine if it was really help or just a bleeding heart.

This wasn't something he wanted to draw in help for. It was too dirty, too damaging. Where Itsuda and his fathers debt came from was not something they needed to know about. It wasn't the person his friends knew him as. Except for Honda, but asking Honda for help was out of the question. Period.

He turned on the tap again and stuck his head underneath the cold water. It poured down his back and trickled down his chest, water clinging onto his skin for dear life. A long groan escaped his lips, frustration drowning in the water.

"You knew this was going to happen," he muttered, pulling his head from underneath. "And there was nothing that you could do about it. Now deal."

Looking in the mirror he saw an expression neither comforting nor accusing. Just blank, hazel eyes set in complete apathy. He'd call Kaiba some other night, despite the thing he wanted most at the moment was some company that wouldn t try to coddle him or impose their assistance. There was an assumption that existed in his mind that even if he told Kaiba what the problem was, Kaiba would know better than to interfere if he was told not to.

He took a towel, dried out his hair and went into the kitchen to make himself dinner.


	6. Interlude: Seto

"I can't stay here with you," Mokuba realized. Seto noted that his brother wasn't looking at anything as he said this, though they were facing each other. An epiphany. Mokuba was fourteen years old.

That was all he'd said and the next morning he was gone, overseas to a private boarding school. They'd had the same disagreement a thousand times; what was it? A thousand things, but it was all the same. Mokuba wanting something done here instead of there or some broken engagement, Seto unwaveringly in disagreement or incapable of compromise. This time it was about the exposure of the Corporations charity at the duelling event. Mokuba didn't want it to be secondary and argued that it got shunted to the side by inflated egos (namely Seto's) and witty banters, hype, and/or trash talk. Of course, Mokuba was right, but Seto doubted that the charity wouldn't complain about raising a good fifty million from the whole charade in the end anyways.

"But it's about raising _awareness_ too, Seto," Mokuba had gritted out. Where Mokuba had grown such a bleeding heart, Seto didn't know. But if Yuugi hadn't been competing in the tournament, it wouldn't have been such a difficult thing to keep Mokuba's ideas in mind throughout the affair. But Yuugi had been competing. And Yuugi had won. Seto was still thinking more of than even as he argued with his brother and was vaguely aware that he was more thinking aloud rather than arguing.

The bleeding heart statement hadn't been the best thing he could have said in retaliation, especially when at the core, he agreed with Mokuba. It'd been a statement where the affect of it made him think that Mokuba would physically attack him. That hadn't happened however, and hadn't ever with Seto. The younger brother had grown past his juvenile tendencies to solve things with fists and had developed an emotionally mature level-headedness to harm in ways far worse than a thrown punch. An emotional maturity that in truth, had no intention of harming others more often than not but did so in spite of itself. Like packing up and leaving to curb the damage between the two of them.

For weeks, Seto consciously acted as though nothing had happened. That Mokuba's departure was planned and a part of his education. As a result, the air at KaibaCorp had a rigid sensitivity. Flammable; that was the best word for it. The smallest sparks set off blazes. Mokuba wasn't there to put it out. He hired someone with a milder temperament than his own to handle the people pleasing aspect of things. There was no pride lost in admitting that flaw; whatever it took to run the company. With KaibaCorp, objectivity was in abundance. It was business; there was no reason to treat it as anything else.

Objectivity in personal relationships however, had been a topic of contention with Mokuba. One that took centre stage more times than Seto cared to count. When it wasn't addressed it was the most evident.

Mokuba didn't come back to live with him again when he finished school. This was fair. He was nearly a grown man and had long ago proved his own self-sufficiency. There was also a summer where it was proven again that living together was not a wise decision.

"Who was it this time?" Mokuba asked irritably from the couch, not even turning to face his brother. He wasn't watching TV, but the glow showered over him from a science program running simulations of the movement of prehistoric land predators. Seto stopped his linear movement across the floor that would lead him into the kitchen where there'd be much appreciated cold water and food. But that was only habit; his appetite had been lost entirely and though he felt parched, he had no desire to quench his thirst. In a rare mood, he didn't know what he was doing. The only thing that there was to do at that moment was to fall into those paths of habit. It was the only thing that seemed familiar through the fog.

There was no part of him that held any hope for the situation. It was done, as simply as that. The slightest chance, the kind that he'd dismiss in any experiment or trial without a second thought had happened. He remembered not breathing and falling motionless, the heaving of his partner being the only sound in that room. His own breath had been muted to him, but he felt it through every limb.

It'd been a generic room, no notable thing about it except that it was quickly procured and a cleanly alternative to any number of other places. The setting couldn't have been more understated, but his eyes had flicked open and fixated on a generic painting on generic wallpaper in a room with generic dimensions. The only real defining features were the quality of the furnishings that were indistinguishable in the dim light and the curtained view they couldn't see.

He'd even known that he was running the risk. The other man had done him an uncommon courtesy and declared his status. Seto had evenly brushed it aside, assuring that even if he hadn't come out with it, all the necessary precautions were taken as a rigid code of conduct. And that'd been good enough. There'd been no reason for it not to be.

Except for the slimmest of chances.

Mokuba turned around finally, realizing the pause before his brothers response. He looked surprised to see Seto still standing there.

"It's not your concern," Seto answered finally. This dispersed any surprise Mokuba had; he'd assumed that a any response at all to this question of his was a hostile one intended to instigate an argument. Seto wondered at times like this why Mokuba took the bait. Perhaps he thought that if he became angry enough, his message would get through. If that were the case, he didn't understand that his message had made it's appearance. It was only that Seto choose to factor it in, but had come to a conclusion of a different rationality.

"Maybe not, but it does concern me when you say you'll do one thing but then drop me for some guy at the last minute. You don't ask, you know, you just change the plan."

Seto didn't answer to the second accusation, ignoring his cue for apologies. Mokuba hadn't pressed further after that, engaging himself more fully in the program and indicating that he was doing so by changing it and looking for something else. Sometimes they could set down their differences. Mokuba had always let this part of Seto's life exist as Seto saw it fit. It was private, the same way that Mokuba's involvement with other people was private. It was a show of respect.

Or that Mokuba didn't know how to change his brother's mind. Seto was not a person to make efforts for a continuous relationship with people. Mokuba was. Different people, different stories. It was as grossly pretentious as it was respectful that Mokuba accepted that.

Seto felt himself strained. Having that kind of relationship with his brother wasn't what he wanted. Coupled with what'd happened…his body felt separate from his conscience. He was not inside and in control but he could feel that physical entombment suspended limply in indecision. Was this the term "beside oneself"?

Mokuba turned around and looked at him again, jarring his conscience and body back together. His brows were knit together, sensing that something wasn't how it should have been. It's so easy to lie, Seto realized numbly. He wouldn't know if he was lying until he was tested, but inherently he already knew. It was not cynicism or alarmism; he'd dealt with facts, reason. The statistics were stacked against him; there was little to no chance that he'd gotten away unscathed. Even if there'd been little to no chance of it happening in the first place, he did not expect slim odds to act more than once in a single evening.

"Seto, are you alright? You look…" Mokuba trailed. Whatever Seto looked like it was something unfamiliar to the younger brother. Seto knew what he looked like. It'd be something between exhaustion, disbelief and resignation. He shook his head instead, muttered an apology for changing the plans and promising that they'd go for brunch tomorrow at that café Mokuba wanted to go to. Platypae; he'd read about it in the paper he'd gotten at airport. Before anything further could be said, Seto closed off the evening,

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

And he walked away.

* * *

Mokuba had thought that the remainder of his visit had prompted Seto to 'behave', but the truth was, it was because Seto had found it unfavourable to put himself in the company of his vicious habits. A healthy decision by most standards. He enjoyed the company of his brother and it's reliability. Too often he wanted to do something and was all too easily consumed by it. That consumption, Seto thought, would be something Mokuba would openly scoff at to note it's understatement and then proceed strike up the arguments between them. This gave further incentive for Seto to not tell him what'd happened (and he had confirmed it) and give solid credence to opinions against his lifestyle.

It wasn't something he would admit to with shame, but he would admit that his method of sexual relations did have more than something to do with what'd happened. The likelihood of certain precautions failing were slim in general, but subjectively, he'd done nothing to prevent it. The platitude of 'it could have happened to anyone' did little for reassurance. It could have happened to anyone, yes, but it was more likely to happen to someone who conducted themselves as he did. There was a consistant murmuring that told him he was the one with the decision making capacity and that he'd abused that power. The self-loathing would have been simultaneously intoxicating and repulsive had be succumbed to it.

His life was not over, but the results had come in and suggested that it'd be coming much sooner than he'd anticipated. Death had been an abstract idea; something that was going to happen but in an inconceivable way as long as he was a healthy individual. And he had been healthy. There'd been everything in his capacity done to always make time to take care of himself or repair damages when temporarily there hadn't been time. Body health was beneficial for mind health; an objective decision with many personal benefits. However, now his body was going to rot from the inside out.

This was no reason to change his habits when regarding his health. Things were quickly adjusted and life went on; he established what control he could have and made due. Making due was a compromise that was unfamiliar but not impossible. Mokuba didn't notice; the alterations were not anything to cause alarm. He never forgot, but the discomfort quickly became nothing he wasn't unused to. It was all under the control he was given.

There were things however that triggered the truth surfaced fully and reminded Seto that there was absolutely no control to his life which suggested the startling confirmation that he never had been as control as he wanted to be. But then, in a way, he'd always known that. There was no way to administer the control he craved even in application to his own life.

What conclusion he met was that the truth is malignant, more so than any dormant and culminating illness that had begun the habitation of his body and that it was the only thing worth protecting.

He wouldn't tell Mokuba or anyone that he didn't need to. Two separate groups, but he had adamant reasons for both.

* * *

Seto heard the phone ring from the living room but did not look away from the screen and there was no hiccup in the speed at which he was working. It was likely for Mokuba given what time it was in Japan and what time it was in Nepal; the fiancé. In his mind, Seto had actually titled her 'the fiancé' though he had no logical reason to refer to her as merely a matrimonial feature. There was absolutely no reason to degrade Lanya (which was her name as he knew perfectly well and would do well to use it), and he believed that the love between her and his brother was in fact, legitimate. However, some disdain erupted at the mere thought of her. Not jealousy. Not envy. Something far more disconcerting but not so easily identifiable.

As far as he could tell, he even approved of the fiancé his brother had chosen. Lanya. He approved of Lanya.

"Seto?" Mokuba called from the living room. "Phone."

Not the fiancé.

"It's Jounouchi-san?"

Seto hit the save button and then paused a moment before pushing back the chair. He was surprised that Jounouchi would be calling so soon, and so late in the evening. Tentatively, he evaluated whether or not he should answer. It was obvious that he wanted to, but something about refraining still felt wise.

He glossed over Mokuba's inquiring expression as he took the phone from his hands and answered,

"Hello?"

"Hey, come over and watch a movie. Or-- ah. Would you like to come over and watch a movie or something?"

There was a laugh in his throat at the unintentional forcefulness of Jounouchi invitation. It didn't make it's way out until after he'd confirmed and pressed the end button on the keypad. He couldn't return to his work before Mokuba launched an inquisition that he was forced to press through quickly to meet sooner now than later.


	7. Chapter Five: AQUA

Katsuya sunk his head into his folded arms, a hand limply clutching his cell phone. After a few moments the screen's backlit flicked off and he could see it happen through his eyelids. There were animals he'd read about, though he couldn't recall any particular species at the deranged moment, that could only sense light and he wondered if that seeing things like that through skin was how they went through life. Or did they 'sense' light by it's heat? _Aren't worms like that?_

These weren't important thoughts so much as distracting digressions into facts and topics to keep him from thinking of his deficiency on the telephone. Not exactly what he'd planned. However, the plan had been that he'd simply call and ask casually if Seto wanted to come over and watch a movie, which was not so much a plan as a vague direction lacking hugely in any sophistication. He'd panicked. The direction had veered off in vaguely _that_ targeted area. Katsuya groaned and flung himself towards the phone dock to replace the phone for charging and perused the apartment to ensure that it was fit for presentation.

_I'm lying if I say that I don't know what I'm doing,_ he thought mildly, straightening already aligned magazines stacked on the coffee table before deciding to put them away in the closet. He needed something to do with his hands. What the hell was he going to do when Kaiba got there? Asides from the obvious because he couldn't do the obvious because…because. Because he couldn't and could barely ever imagine being in a place of mind where he could. He definitely knew that he could do…_it_ seeing as he'd confirmed that long before ever reconnecting with Kaiba. Even as he was in an immature panic enough to still call it _'it',_ there were no impediments in his mind on the possibility now that it'd gotten there. It'd been there before and had happened before, but it'd never been…his mind trailed, trying to sift through it. It'd never been quite like _this_ before, was the difference. Maybe. He seemed to remember thinking something like that last time too. But this was Seto Kaiba. Someone he'd professed to detest down to the very last molecule of the man's being.

He'd known about Kaiba for a long time. Not for certain, because it wasn't something of vocal concern unless you were fourteen and a girl and had every news clipping of the guy pasted onto your bedroom wall. It wasn't something he'd really thought about at all, and probably because he spent most of his time mouthing off to the CEO as a kid. As a kid. The phrase sounded inappropriate given the current situation and how it perfectly it reflected high school between that certain guy and that certain girl except it was that certain guy and that certain guy now. _I don't remember ever growing up though anyways._

It hadn't been anything in particular that had tipped him off, but there was that air of secrecy about it. Or not secrecy, but when ever some journalist or reporter managed to get a question in about it was ignored with a hostility unspoken but saying very clearly that his private life had nothing to do with the public. Considering this was Kaiba, a man who basically only spoke business, this was not at all revealing and did not arise the suspicion one would think that it would. The impression was that no one really believed that he had the time for a private life to ask about and therefore didn't press the topic too hard.

A knock at the door. Katsuya half choked that the door was unlocked, heart rate going faster than it had at the mere prospect of Kaiba actually showing up and knowing what could be happening. The door wasn't unlocked though and he heard the wood hit the frame and the handle turn and stop before it made any real progress. He lurched up from the sofa, trying to calculate the time between then and now and how it could have passed so quickly.

He shouldn't have looked so surprised when he opened the door, but there it was, catching him off guard despite having every forewarning towards it. _Hell, I'd even been asking for it._ Katsuya was compelled to blurt out that he wasn't being fooled but considering he felt like one, this seemed oxymoronic. So he said nothing and took a step back to let in Kaiba. Kaiba nodded and stepped in and the cue was uncertain of who should speak first. Taking initiative, Katsuya went first, seeing as it was his humble abode and the responsibility falls to the host. He gave a courtesy nod to the art of household protocol.

* * *

Where it started and where it ended wasn't entirely unintentional, it was how quickly the whole evening seemed to be going that alarmed Katsuya. Trying to be cautious and gauge where Kaiba was on the matter had quickly spiralled out of control. He'd been trying so hard to move cautiously so that he could know just how to approach Seto; for what intent he was vaguely aware. Or rather aware, but uncertain of the reality of what he was doing. They were doing; it was definitely a reciprocated interest.

It'd been in the slightest of knocking, just a bump against on another one the sides of their arms with elbows sharply connecting, feeling more abrupt due to the absolute composure Katsuya had been trying to maintain. Stock still, neither of them moved for a moment. Initially, Katsuya brushed it off, holding up some action movie he half-remembered grabbing at the store earlier that day for the purpose of numbing out. He muttered it's title but trailed off.

"It's," Katsuya paused, his arms falling to his sides. He put the DVD on top of the television and exhaled slowly. It seemed better to come clean.

"Not why I called," he finished. Having it out of him was relieving and exposing at the same time. Kaiba was completely vacant, rigid in his patience. _That's going to drive me nuts,_ Katsuya thought. There was a hunger to the patience; maybe calling it 'patience' wasn't the right word at all. It was something else and it demanded the right answer. Katsuya didn't like think that there had to a right answer. However, he also wasn't renowned for backing down on challenges. Impulsively taking challenges far beyond his capacities and failing miserably, yes; but backing down? Never!

"Look, you probably think that I'm a complete idiot, but I know exactly what you're doing; quit fucking around, we aren't kids."

Seto gave a slight inclination and for a moment Katsuya felt the overwhelming humiliation that he might have misread everything. Having Seto stare right at him like that, was worse than trying to pretend that they were just two friends spending the evening together only minutes before. To his credit, Katsuya looked straight back, despite the absolute feeling that he should be looking away and conceding to defeat. To a loss of what, he wasn't sure. If he looked away it probably wouldn't have mattered, it'd just make an opening for someone to speak. For him to explain that he didn't appreciate being jerked around like some dog on a leash. A thought the he immediately felt burning at the back of his neck due to previous arguments with the CEO. (not that) Ancient history.

It could also be a moment where Seto could apologize. Or blow him off. Then there were all the arguments that could be started about who was playing who and how insulting it was. Ego's could start screaming out and then everything would go back to the way it was, only now with the blemish of an almost attempted _romantic_ adult relationship.

Thankfully, it descended into no verbal sparring.

It was completely instinctual and falling into it's voracious pace was a decision he hardly had time to make. It was first instinct, absurd and ambitious and feed entirely by the desire to skip the nonsense. Telling who moved first was something neither of interest or within the realm of accurate guessing.

There was something about the velocity that stopped Katsuya from reacting immediately, his own eagerness catching him off guard. Pliant, he was waiting to be moved; he didn't have to wait long, Seto pressing his lips against him with an almost apologetic gentleness for having started so roughly. When he removed himself, Katsuya had the feeling that the air had been pulled out of him and that it went trailing after Seto. He moved forwards, chasing after it, going at an angle in the corner of Seto's mouth. It allowed him to catch a bit of it, enough to move back and evaluate again.

Seto was staring, with that frosty pale blue. Not blankly, the way a person did when waiting for a bus, or working through the monotony of a service industry job-- or the way that a person could when they were actively hurting someone-- but intently. It was immensely overwhelming and stopped anything from being said. This would be for the better, Katsuya thought airily. There wasn't anything he could think of that would have been clever or amusing or memorable anyways and even if he had, it seemed unlikely that he'd have remembered it later and thereby making it a moot point.

It was coming again, that moment of awkward delicacy that demanded a particular precision. He closed his eyes before it happened, as he saw Kaiba's body move back towards his. A hand was on his shoulder, pressing him back, the other sliding down to the base of his spine (dammit, that made focusing on directions difficult). Seto's mouth covered over his, the warm air colliding with his own, the distracting idea of teeth and tongues and the more chaste contacts of lips alone. Somewhere in all that was what Katsuya needed to reanimate his own direction and he easily led the taller man to the bedroom.

From there, something became frantic and Katsuya felt the fabric of his clothes being pulled at and tried to figure out which way went what, all the while having to remove Seto's shirt between rapid-fire succession of kisses through the flurry of buttons and thread. Whatever words he'd been trying to conceive early to be memorable or witty had translated into a different communiqué. A better one.

Underneath the dark navy of Seto's shirt he found collar bones, more pale, bare skin, sharp shoulders, and a carefully gym-fit body. It all spoke wealth, but Katsuya didn't feel himself becoming angry with it; quite the opposite, more amused that underneath the clothes that suggested a more delicate form by their slender lines was something more substantial than most would have guessed. It wouldn't be a stretch to assume that it wasn't only for show either, considering that it was Kaiba, the man who left no room for unnecessary exposure.

Katsuya had just straddled overtop and begun fumbling at Seto's jeans because there wasn't anything confusing about what was happening there…

"Where are the condoms?" Seto cut in, staying Katsuya's hands and propping himself on an elbow to make sure that they were acknowledging the scene. _Oh._

Memory came crashing down and Katsuya was reminded that eliminating unnecessary risks didn't actually exist. Minimizing. That's all you could do. He closed his eyes and breathed shallowly, trying to slow his mind enough to make a decision. Seto made no idle movement, instead waiting for a response. It felt as though he were trying to remain impartial, but how impartial could he be given that they'd gotten _here?_

"They're in…" Katsuya shut and closed his eyes again, frustrated. In a general direction of the washroom he waved a hand. The concluding word to the building phrase was, "Fuck."

Reality seemed to be catching up and the warring idea of how long it'd been and how good it felt and how easy it'd be to just disregard the idea of _risk_ was quickly diminishing in it's appeal. Guilt was curdling in his throat and he indulged only a moment longer in the swell and fall of Seto's breathing before shaking his head 'no' and moving away, picking himself off of the man beneath him. He covered his face with a hand; trying to hide what was showing there. What was showing chiefly went by the name of fear, but it would be easy enough to cover with logic and a dose of truth and the notion that both were undeniable.

"I can't do this. It's too soon, it's--"

_Wrong?_

"Too much to commit to," Seto finished. It was difficult to tell if it was an agreement or something more personal. Was that Seto Kaiba feeling rejection? He didn't catch enough a glimpse of it to figure it out.

"It's," Katsuya took a breath, feeling the speed of time catch up and resume it's regular pace. He started again, this time looking Seto in the eye, "It's not just the…HIV. It's just not the time to go…here. So fast."

Out of his peripherals Katsuya saw that Seto seemed only able to watch him for a moment before sitting up and setting his elbows atop his knees. Without having to look at him directly now, Katsuya watched him nod. At the man's throat Katsuya saw him swallow. Looking to his mouth he saw that his lips weren't pressed into their penchant frown, but rather seemed like something wanted to be said but it wasn't something for either of them to hear aloud. Quickly it became that it wouldn't be said, because neither of them would ask for it or offer it. Discreetly, it was swept away and replaced with something else. It was perfectly reasonable to not go after that replaced string of words and thought.

"You're right," Seto conceded as he propelled himself upwards and pulled his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. It was a very rare thing to hear him verbally admit to agreeing and it made Katsuya feel entitled for a second before it twisted into something else. Maybe it was because of that distorting that suddenly it didn't feel like things were going how they should be at all. There was something hostile and accusing that wanted to say that he'd done nothing wrong, but he held his tongue knowing better than to answer always to that angry screaming thing underneath now. However, it was still there and something to logic against. There was something else he could offer instead, he reasoned,

"I'm sor--"

"Don't," Seto warned. "I don't want to hear it."

Katsuya felt a flare of the old annoyance and flicked a glare over to Kaiba, who was re-buttoning his shirt and either ignored or--no, Seto would have not missed that. It's just that there was nothing to say to it. Instead of starting an argument, Katsuya uttered a belligerent 'fine' that he barely felt his mouth form and quite possibly didn't hear anywhere outside of his head. The air in the room was cold; the window was opened, and the spring showers still bit with their frost, though they'd stopped hours ago. With a sigh, Katsuya reached for his own clothing and slid the shirt back over his head.

_Too much to commit to._

"Hey. By saying 'too much to commit to', does that mean it's too much for you as much as it is for me?" Katsuya asked. Despite the frustration he was able to process the wording of things and pick out the parts he could hope on. Redressed but ruffled, Seto sat next to him to engage in the dialogue.

"Yes."

He'd agreed with a simple answer, Katsuya was pleased to hear; he had not wanted to hear a reason followed by a rationalization and a musing, and because it was Seto, some degrading insult. But he hadn't expected anything poetic from Seto and the tension currently drawn over the man didn't seem to leave any flexibility for an insult. Another positive note; Seto had responded without arrogance and without further solicitation. Only an earnest tone had been applied. It'd been what Katsuya'd had hoped for. He took a breath, feeling the rattle into his chest converting the last of his swarming thoughts into a cohesive mass.

"Good. That's what I wanted to hear."

Between them Katsuya took hold of Seto's hand without hesitancy as he said it; an extension of his relief. He meant it, even if he was only just fully articulating it. Seto grasped back and pulled him closer, pressing a kiss into wayward blonde hair as a mark of his confidence; an endearing motion Katsuya sensed that the man was not familiar with himself. Katsuya felt a grin at this realization, leaning up to press his own kiss onto the side of the brunette's throat.

"Right, so. About that movie."

* * *

He spent the day trying to coerce the numbers into correlating with the one Itsuda had named. It came no place close and ended with the furious crumpling of paper and tossing of said paper against a wall where it rebounded and flagrantly dared to find it's way back to him. He spent the following day at work, the only concrete method he had of acquiring the funds he needed, thinking of those papers and fishing them out of the garbage under the sink for what little they did manage to offer. He tried not to think of the evening with Seto seeing as it was marvellously wicked distraction that he could do without right now. But it was such a good night and in the middle of even the most mundane actions he found his body on autopilot as his mind wandered off elsewhere.

Masako reprimanded him on his carelessness to his injury and repaired and re-bandaged the mess, she noted that he was in a suspiciously good mood. When he didn't answer with anything substantial (it's such a nice day out), she courteously did not probe further. Uncomfortable, it did raise the question of just how the people close to him would be told about Seto if-- he stopped the thought from going too far. It was too early to risk jinxing it. He settled that whatever happened would happen and reasoned that there wasn't a way to prepare for it and there was no point in getting ahead of himself. Superstition was difficult to get rid of, he admired.

But the question didn't go away because he wasn't answering it and sat staring at him with spooky owl eyes from across the space of his head instead of disappearing like it was supposed to. He shook it out (physically, too) and this seemed to jar it enough into the recesses of his corridor of problems so that he did not have to see it until it crawled back out again. It didn't seem so long ago that things had been so uncomplicated. It hadn't been. The only thing that _had_ been a long time was finding someone he was completely onboard with the pursuit of. Maybe he'd stopped looking, and that had been the problem. Thirty years old (ouch) and no real securities in life; in a way he'd gotten used to just being with himself, now and again giving a fleeting shot at someone and parting on agreeing and polite terms after a couple of weeks, at longest, after a month or two.

But with Seto, it all bunched up in the core of his body and coiled with the threat of ejecting itself in sudden and incontrollable outbursts of unworded terrorized excitement. Something that involved maybe a loud SHOUT, or perhaps the flailing of limbs in unassuming directions. Or in running, and running, and running. Something ecstatically outward that would try in unassuming vain to express appropriately the cataclysmic chemicals that set into motion at the mere thoughts of Seto. All these things he was not enslaved too, but amused and willing to overstep his wariness for. It didn't matter that he didn't follow the every whim of the feeling. What mattered was that it was there and it was something that could exist comfortably without prediction. The feeling was that of finding something fathomless.

These feelings and having a distant idea of what it was continued to not solve the problem of Itsuda and that largely unattainable sum of money. Even as he made the calls to certain venues of duelling, there was a sinking feeling of the impossibility of the situation. The facilitators promised fair and equal participants and prompt arrangements, but Katsuya had the uncomfortable idea going through his mind that to lose one duel, would set him back and on such a short timeline it wasn't something that he could afford. Knowing that you could not afford to lose was not enough to guarantee a win; while an idea like that could inspire inventiveness, the flip side was of course that it could incite desperation and with desperation also came innovation but more easily it lead to mistakes.

Failing to make the expiry date on his spoken contract with Itsuda did not create the fear of retribution for Katsuya. If he failed to make the full payment at that time, a partial payment would suffice enough to allow for an extension. But the danger of that was one extension leading to another for what would make years of constantly owing people he'd done his best to having nothing to do with. That was how these things worked if you could pay enough to satisfy. Slowly chipping away at it, the interest eating at most of the progress you make. But the greatest desire was simply to purge himself of any residual bits of his father on his life. It begrudged him that this was the thing he'd inherited. It was a perfect caricature of what a regular death would have left for a regular inheritance. Like his surname, he desired to rid himself of the last reminders of unsolicited genealogy.

The only option, was to win these duels, against insofar, nameless duellists. There would be no problem in finding people to duel him, he knew; he was still considered one of the top duellists in the nation though had fallen into the category of 'sleeping dragons', a term created nearly three years ago in a magazine and now widely used to refer to the whole generation of duellists that seemed to be waiting for new blood. Some more so than others. For Katsuya, it was simply that he had other things he wanted to do in his life as well.

It always seemed perfectly natural, how the familiar names were always the first to answer; Ryota Kajiki.

"Been a while…" Katsuya muttered, setting down the telephone. He tried to think of where he'd last heard about Ryota, but no place came to mind; he hoped that this meant that man had found his father. But he doubted it. Frowning at his cynicism, Katsuya tried to shrug it off and cease the bleak projection. It didn't stop. Before making his way to the shower to wash of the smells of the day's work he turned on the laptop that'd been shoved indiscreetly underneath the bed. With a polite plea to whatever entity was listening he asked that his neighbours unprotected internet access to still exist in the vicinity and opened up the browser. Whoever was listening was in a favourable mood and the neighbours still had open access on. A quick search (hen pecked on the keyboard) revealed the information he'd been looking for.

He didn't feel vindicated in finding out he was correct in his doubts. Ryota had covered the ports of the world over and found not a single trace. This made Katsuya feel guilty even, as though by thinking that it was such an unlikely thing he'd made certain that it went beyond that; that it became an impossible thing. The universe, to his knowledge, did not work like that. But there it was and Ryota's father had truly swallowed by the sea and it would have been like that whether or not the universe worked how he thought it did or didn't.

Knowing this personal information made Katsuya nervous, but knowing now was better than finding out during a duel. Whatever his travels had done, Katsuya was sure that it'd have transcended into the way Ryota would duel. It's not only the cards that made the duellist, but their history. With such dense searching as Ryota's, Katsuya had no doubt of the formidability of his opponent.

Incapable of withstanding the humidity in the apartment Katsuya shut off the computer, keeping the tabs open so that he could go and look over Ryota's recent duelling records later. The air seemed to stick to his skin, and his hair felt heavy and the stale smell of sweat had overpowered the masking of his deodorant. All signs that spring would quickly be over, giving way to the heady comas of summer that slowed everything to a crawl until the night came for the mind to finally recall it's wakefulness. He turned on the water and held his hand under it, feeling the cold before the hot and then adjusting it to a lukewarm.

As he was stepping in he heard the telephone ringing, but sacrificed his attention to the water that sprayed out in a highly pressurized jet; the kind that most people would find abrasive and sharp. It felt cleaner that way.

Then he remembered something. Stored away, somewhere safe, he still had Ryota's fisherman card.


	8. Chapter Six: VERACITY

Seto stared at the decimated remains of the piping underneath the sink, still dribbling like a spittle-mouthed monster in a cheap horror movie. The stench that infused the air had him holding a towel over his mouth to try and stop it from causing his sense of smell to force the gag reflex into indecent reactions. Sewage lay strewn across the floor and he stared, trying to conceive how the build of the mansion could be so poor as to allow for such a flaw. It could not help being an older building, but considering the sum one required to purchase it seemed to suggest a failsafe against urban malfunctions such as the one that'd frothed and spewed up from the depths of the city's infrastructure. With limited patience, he waited for Mokuba to finish speaking with maintenance.

"We're going to have to tear up the grounds. The sewage came up through the underground tank and apparently, it's not going to stop unless we update the system," Mokuba informed, pressing the 'end' button on the telephone and stepping beside his brother. It was difficult not to stare at the fetid remains of…some unidentifiable substances mixed in with the half rotted solids. Whatever part you looked at was as equally infernal as the other. It made the obsessive compulsive personality in Seto writhe and pull at him to _get away._ Judging by the expression distorting his brother's face, it was a shared compulsion. Or it could have been the rancid, overpowering stench of said fetid remains.

"Convenient," Seto responded, parched dry.

"Well, I guess that we can use the other kitchen, but there's what, fifty kids we have to feed here tonight? I think it's to small…"

"We can call for take-out."

Mokuba snorted and elbowed his elder brother, "Yeah, I think you're missing the point of this."

'This' being Mokuba's customary dinner he held each time he was back in Domino for the former mansion- converted-orphanage. It was perverse, Seto thought, not only converting Gozaboro's mansion into a home for orphaned children, but the fact that two orphans had been the ones to open it. Mostly Mokuba's doing. It waxed of a nauseating poetic. The Academy was Seto's playing field, the only rule of admission there being that you had the skills to be worth investing in. A point of argument with Mokuba who believed that it should be a place for anyone who truly wanted to learn to duel, that the hierarchy system was feudal etc, etc. Mokuba's ideals were a point of envy for Seto, but could always be overruled by the practicality of pragmatism. The Academy was an institution of study, not a refuge; though he could see how it would be a refuge for some. In the end, Mokuba did the logical thing and began his own project of restoring and modifying the mansion for his ideas so that they could exist separately from Seto's.

Seto didn't hate what Mokuba had done with the place; he hated the location. He hated knowing every metre of the floor plan, knowing where every act of grooming had been made to make him a suitable successor for KaibaCorp. Nothing horrendously scarring, just a taunting sense of disdain. The things he remembered were the things that a child would hate; learning multiple languages, studying instead of duelling, studying instead of playing with his brother, being shouted at for poor performance. Though poor performance only happened once; a result of his own boredom and a curiosity of seeing the reaction of his tutors and Gozaboro to a substandard performance.

Regardless of how he unintentionally _felt_ about the building and how Mokuba knew of these inclinations, being roped in to help make dinner for fifty children and adolescents was a typical thing to happen. Not that Mokuba required the most persuasive techniques to convince him to join in. The conversation if he recalled correctly went something as such:

"I'm doing the dinner tonight and I need your help."

"Fine"

Nothing particularly artful. It didn't need to be.

"Do you know anywhere with a full kitchen that would let us it on short notice? I'm not cancelling because some sewage decided to overflow the sink," Mokuba went on. Seto glanced down at the floor; _some_ sewage? "And preferably, a kitchen that doesn't require us to have any food safety certificates. And also, one that isn't going to cut into their daily services."

All of Mokuba's requirements made for a tall order. Seto wondered if these standards were set because they were things that he himself would disregard completely; anyone would keep quiet about a lack of food safety certificates for 'x' amount of money and he was _Seto Kaiba._ To be modestly negligible of his own status would be degrading. Mokuba was made of nothing but modesty and politeness and if it weren't so innately developed, Seto would have sworn that he was being mocked for his own lacking of those particular qualities. Sometimes the brother he stood beside seemed so foreign that it appeared as though there could have been a mistake when they arrived at the orphanage and his real brother was out there causing a immodest havoc, possibly running a criminal organization because he hadn't been graced with the opportunity to overtake an international corporation. But that was a stretch.

"I'll make some calls," Seto delegated. "You and some of the older ones move the groceries into the van."

"Right."

Seto removed himself from the suffocating remains of the kitchen. Why they hadn't left the place sooner was something he briefly looked at in 20/20 hindsight. The number was dialled before he'd closed himself off into the staff room, graciously empty. The first thing he heard wasn't the sound of greeting but the sounds of tools and the clattering of wood and movement.

"Hey," Katsuya said, the sounds of the workshop behind him dying off as he moved away from it. It faded into a muffled static.

"Does Mai Kujaku's bar have a fully equipped kitchen?"

"Um. Yes. Not that I recommend anything that comes from it; not exactly the draw of the place."

"Good."

There was a pause and Seto realized he needed to offer an explanation. With brevity, he outlined what'd happened. Even a room away didn't do much for the stench which had already diffused through the air and likely gone up into the air vents. He did not relish the idea of how long that mixture of smells would linger.

"Alright, I'll ask her if you can use it."

Seto felt a twinge of something. Distrust? This was something he was perfectly capable of handling on his own. He was frowning. He could felt it on his face before he had time to stop it from appearing there. There were things about Katsuya that made him frown, but distrust shouldn't be one of them. It wasn't fair to project his wariness of dependability on others on him, but there it was, glaring at him like an impertinent child; a memory of a former self. It was unlikely that Katsuya would fail to comply with his offer. Perhaps that was the unfamiliarity of the situation. Not distrust, but that without realizing it, he'd made a request instead of proposed a deal and someone had still responded with action to move forward. Out of their own free will.

"Unless you want to do it, I mean, but from what I remember about you and Mai you weren't exactly chumming it up," Katsuya continued, cutting through the break in conversation. That had to stop happening, Seto thought. There wasn't any solution that came to mind however on how to prevent those breaks from happening. Something about talking to Katsuya over the telephone constantly jarred him, taking his usual diplomacy and authority and tossing it out window.

"No, we weren't. Call me back when you have an answer."

"I'll ring you back in a few. Um…nice to hear you."

Seto blinked. Trying to identify the appropriate response was taking him longer than it should have been. There was another jarring break in the conversation.

"You too," he answered. It sounded pitiable and flat in his head but had gotten out anyways, and there was the notion that it should have been something less…sentimental. It probably should have been more.

He quickly said good-bye and went out to inform Mokuba that they likely had a kitchen they could use. Ending the call abruptly was a way of avoiding any further conversation. Cowardice was something he was unused to. So many exotic emotions sprung up when he was faced with even just the idea of Katsuya. It was intoxicating in it's way but the judicious part of his mind told himself to separate from it. The only thing that it would amount to was a distraction, it argued. The opposing voice told it, blasé, to shut the hell up. He listened to the less refined argument. Whatever the judgemental part of his brain was saying was purely the mewling of a hypochondriac and hardly presented a compelling argument when it came to romance.

_Romance._ Attempting to sweep the word out of his train of thought did no good and instead lingered there like an afterimage.

It had been _nice,_ hearing Katsuya. Most of Seto's time had been mired in work and all it's embroidering with specific pockets of time with Mokuba. It'd quickly mounted into another week. Counting days; how harlequin romance. What next? Impassioned sighs while distantly viewing bleakly toned windows? The possibilities were gut-wrenchingly endless. He tried not to imagine those scenarios; he pressed his mouth into a straight line of defiance. The succinct images of the montage quickly subsided. Seto was not enjoying how inexperienced this was making him feel, but not abhorring it either. There was a certain gallows humour to it that he could appreciate.

He snapped the phone back open, hardly halfway through the first ring.

"It's a go; she said you can head there now. Do you know where it is?" Katsuya leapt in.

"Good; yes."

"I…said that it was for Mokuba. It seemed more likely that she'd let you use the place if it was for your brother and not…you."

Hearing this did not surprise him and tactically, it made perfect sense. So reading it as a deliberate attempt to withhold information from Kujaku seemed paranoid. But paranoia did not change the fact that it was double-dealing, deliberate or not. However; did the woman dislike him that much?

_Yes._ Occam's razor.

"Probably a good idea," Seto responded. And it was a good idea and he wasn't going to doubt it. It was shelved. It didn't disappear the way he wanted it to and just sat on the shelf. "Thank-you."

"Um. Yeah, no problem." Did Katsuya hear something judgemental in his voice?

"Talk to you later," Seto closed off. He didn't want the telephone on his ear longer than it had to be when things were going the way they were. It made him uncomfortable. Claustrophobic. Things he wasn't used to and things he'd rather avoid. He was trying not to become a paranoid. It wasn't going as well as he'd have liked. So Kujaku didn't know who exactly Katsuya was asking the favour for; it didn't change that what needed to be done had gotten done.

The basics of the matter were that he didn't like hiding. While he did not publicize his relationships, there wasn't any reason to keep it from the people he actually respected. Despite his relationship with Kujaku, he did respect her. She was a top ranked duellist for good reason, and she was Katsuya's friend. He didn't like to think that Katsuya wanted to hide him from her out of embarrassment. Explaining the circumstance would be difficult, but then, circumstance didn't matter in this case. It might not even be something Katsuya had to divulge to her.

To reassure himself, Seto went on with what he was supposed to be doing.

_When did I get so dramatic?_

Stepping back into the kitchen, he told Mokuba where they'd be going. His younger brother gave a _look_ full of questioning and suspicion in the way that it was really neither but actually all encompassed in a hidden smirk at the corner of his mouth that conveyed one thing; that he knew what was going on. Even without specifics, Mokuba had the look of a gossip preparing to pounce. Seto pretended not to notice and brushed past.

* * *

He wanted to shut his eyes and enter a state of mediation and shut off all the ruckus of fifty kids and his encouraging brother. Instead he stared ahead, lost around the thought of 'why'. He never got far past thinking 'why' because some abrupt shout or question would cut thinking off from any useful direction. He did not do well with kids. Especially with so many of them. Mokuba however, thrived and paid no notice to his elder brother's irritation

This equated to a mild head ache from the noise and he placed his thumb on one temple and two fingers on the other and massaged it lightly. It helped a little. But he was beginning to feel like he was lingering in a room where he wasn't a part of the activities. Mokuba wouldn't notice until later that he left and wouldn't come after him even when he did. At least he'd tried to stay. Lowering his hand, Seto gathered his cutlery and plate and went into the kitchen to separate himself. He pressed the door open with a shoulder and felt himself relax as he stepped through. Relief.

"Hey," he was greeted. Looking up he saw Katsuya. The headache at his temples thudded dully at the surprise. His lips muttered a hello back.

"I thought I'd come and help clean up or something," Katsuya hurried through. He paused, looking like he wanted to say something more. Perhaps about telling Mai that the favour was for Mokuba and not for Seto. Seto didn't respond, instead nodding and going over to Katsuya's side. Without demur, Katsuya allowed for Seto to slide his arms around his side from behind.

"Long day?" Katsuya asked, settling his hands over Seto's that'd clasped at his front. Without a word, Seto only nodded into Katsuya's shoulder. He wasn't sure if he'd ever done that to anyone before. Each moment he expected to be shrugged off. But Katsuya wouldn't do anything like that, he didn't think.

Seto brushed his lips on the back of Katsuya's neck before releasing him and allowing the man to turn and face him. Fluidly, Katsuya did so and leaned on the edge of the counter. It was done casually; Seto had always thought of Katsuya as a much clumsier person. Someone who wouldn't know what to do with someone like him. Unless he was just good at hiding that clumsiness.

The headache was making him feel weak, and his thoughts wander. They wandered all over Katsuya's lips, his arms and down to the curve between his wrist and tip of his thumb and the idea that it'd be good just to lay down and trace those places on the man's body before falling asleep. It was hardly the time or place, and Seto searched around from something to say. Small conversation, surely he could manage.

"Are you alright?" Katsuya asked, his brow furrowing with concern. He'd realized that he'd been doing all the talking.

"Headache," Seto said in way of explanation.

When Katsuya approached him he went rigid for a moment, seeing only the man's rough hands coming towards his face. They only rested lightly on his temples though and began to massage lightly. It felt good. Through Katsuya's callous skin, Seto couldn't tell if it were hot or cold, but enjoyed the neutrality. He shut his eyes. It made him feel more certain that the world wasn't gently swaying underneath his feet and that even if it were, someone was there to hold him up should he stumble in the state that he was in.

"I talked to Mai. I told her who I was really asking the favour for," Katsuya confessed. His voice sounded strained, but his massage remained determinedly even. Small wonders. "And why."

"Is that supposed to help my headache?"

The fingers left his temples and Seto wondered if he had sounded ungrateful. When he opened his eyes however, he saw that Katsuya was grinning. Like he hadn't been expecting a sense of humour. _You, of little faith._

"No, but I'll go get you some aspirin."

Seto would let him do that. The door swung a bit in each direction as Katsuya exited and the sound seemed to drag across his mind like something heavy being dragged across a cement floor. Scratchy and dusty. It made the inside of his brain feel like a chalkboard.

It was difficult to not let larger concerns infiltrate the simplicity of his ailment. There was that thing, that one fact, lurking around the cause. To think that it was that seemed like an overblown reaction to give it too much consideration. He had after all, just spent the afternoon with his brother and fifty adolescents and teenagers where even just the afternoon with his brother could have done the trick. Regardless, the idea that it was something more crossed his mind. With little ceremony, he shoved the idea into a closeted area of his mind and listened to it fall with a satisfactory thud.

If only if could be ignored like that.

The door opened again and Katsuya took a glass off the shelf to fill with water. When he was finished, he presented in one hand the glass of water, and in the other two small orange pills. Seto received first the pills, tasting the sugar coating for a brief moment before washing it down with water. Problem solved.

"Thank-you."

"You're welcome."

There wasn't room to say anything else before Mokuba came in with a trolley of haphazardly stacked dishes. Cutlery stuck out from every angle, making it look like a miniature model of science fiction death machine.

"Ah," was his greeting as he looked between the odd pairing. Though Seto noticed how quickly that turned into the all-knowing. Katsuya leapt into greetings and conversation and Seto was waited while they played catch up. When they were done, Mokuba turned to his older brother to relay what would be happening next.

"I'm going to start getting the kids back and start up the soccer game; could you and Katsuya work on cleaning this place up?"

Katsuya informed proudly that that was exactly what he'd had in mind and set to running the water for the sink.

* * *

The pile of dishes was near it's end, with Katsuya washing as Seto passed them through the sanitizer and then back up onto their appropriate shelving. The headache had passed and listening to Katsuya talk about the day wasn't unpleasant though without faces for names it had little hope for retention. Listening to him talk about what he'd told Kujaku went as far to being something of interest.

"She uh…wasn't exactly pleased to see you here and chewed me out a bit for it when I showed up. She respects you as a duellist and everything, but she…well. She thinks you're a 'stuck-up, frigid bastard' and 'bad company', I think is how she put it in the end."

Katsuya paused to see the reaction, wondering if his reiteration was shaded to heavily with truth. Seto only shrugged, the insult sliding off his shoulders like water. Encouraged, or unrestrained, Katsuya continued,

"Anyways, so I told her how things were with us and that I…well, that I have some feelings for you that are different from before."

Listening to the explanation was like listening to a much younger man trying to tell his friends about some new girl he met without sounding like he really meant anything by it. It reminded him of how Mokuba had been whenever that'd happened to him. Coming from Katsuya, it was supposed to sound casual, but Seto could tell that he was struggling to be honest but not to be imposing; Seto wished that he'd just say what he wanted to say in simple terms. Dancing around the topic was only irritating.

"And what might those different feelings be?" Seto provoked evenly. Katsuya wasn't meant to hear the provocation and became flustered with his words. Certainly he was surprised that Seto would be fishing for a more articulate explanation.

"Well, I just mean that…since, you and I…" he trailed, still trying to multi-task and wash the remaining dishes as he spoke. Realizing that his couldn't be juggling two tasks at once, Katsuya set down the dish and it sunk slowly to the bottom of the murky water. He grabbed a towel to buy time and wiped his hands before looking at Seto. The hazel in his eyes took on a determined glint and it was clear that it mattered very much to Katsuya to say what he meant and to have it understood just the way that he meant it.

"Those 'different feelings'," he began afresh, "are that I haven't felt as comfortable with someone for a long time and that I think that there may actually be something there for you and I together. Also, that it matters to me if you feel the same. A lot."

Now that he'd said his piece without saying that one particular word that it all hinted at, Katsuya relaxed again back into the maturity of his age and continued with the task at hand. Seto wanted to respond with something as bluntly eloquent, but nothing seemed to be coming to mind. Katsuya had actually said it in a very accurate phrasing. Finding another way to say the same thing would only be inefficient, and Seto doubted that he could say anything to top it even if he wanted to. It wasn't his area of expertise. It may not have been Katsuya's either, but at least he had a better idea.

"I assure you that the feeling is mutual," he finally answered. And he meant it, even made the effort of trying to make sure that his voice conveyed how much he meant it, for what it was worth. It felt like having to imitate Mokuba's voice. Katsuya glanced over, pausing in his work again. For a moment Seto thought that he'd failed and the words had come out as cold with function as they usually did. He was no colourful orator and knew it. But judging by Katsuya's response, his efforts hadn't been in vain.

"Good. Please don't force my hand into answering like that again."

Something else seemed to be on the tip of his tongue but Katsuya didn't continue and he took the last few dishes and sunk them into the water. They hit the bottom of the metal sink with a dull clatter. Seto could guess the accusatory nature of what he wasn't saying. He had forced Katsuya's hand, and it could easily be parsed as insecurity. Seto wanted to think that it was only unfamiliarity, but insecurity seemed to fit the bill alongside that word as the headliner. The quiet that followed Katsuya's request said, "I dare you".

With a rush of impulse not unfamiliar he took his hand and lifted it to turn Katsuya's face towards him in calculated measure. Hazel eyes inquired for a moment but settled into compliance as comprehension passed through. It was easy from there to kiss him, Seto thought, and to kiss him properly, without the frantic hurry he'd been feeling around the man before and without the game making everything seem inconsequential. It was a less complicated kiss than the others they'd shared together had been, going no further than Katsuya's lips or his. Something more gentle rather than passionate; a conveyance of understanding, apology and the sincerity required for both to mean anything.

When he moved back, Katsuya didn't open his eyes for a moment, as though relishing the touch for as long as he could. Seto stoked a thumb against Katsuya's jaw, coaxing his eyes to open again. When they did, a crooked smile was drawn out as well and transferred into a kiss that landed on the inside of Seto's wrist. It was a ghosting touch, and Seto had felt it across his veins and tendons as though it were meant to remind him that he was organic, and human and his thoughts swarmed eagerly around the idea, for once.

"Still here," Kujaku said. They both flicked their faces towards the voice, Seto's hand poised mid-air before being brought down back to his side, the suspension of the moment cut. She looked between them and the obviousness of the situation was inescapable. To her credit, she was discreet enough to not comment on the private nature of the scene and allowed for them to regain composure. Katsuya straightened himself and rested his shoulder alongside Seto's.

"Can't be that bad if he's willing to clean house," she said. Seto feigned a looked of inquiry to which she pursed her lips.

"Not bad at all," Katsuya smoothed over with more delicacy than Seto had ever given him credit for. "We're just about finished and then you may continue on with your wicked ways. I hear there's a match tonight?"

Seto could feel Katsuya press against him as though rallying for courage. Judging by the look on his face and the look on Kujaku's, there'd been something left undisguised or something recently discovered.

"There is. Ryota Kajiki is in town and asked for a couple of matches here."

The air slipped into an accusatory temperance. At his side Katsuya had stiffened at the sound of Kajiki's.

"Oh, is that right?" he asked. It hadn't come out as smoothly as it was meant to, slipping somewhere near the end.

With the look Kujaku was giving Katsuya- a look of fury, frustration and a hint of a woman jaded- Seto had the impression that tonight was not a night to risk speaking with her for fear of invoking more of that tidal wrath than necessary. Whatever Katsuya had done or gotten himself involved with would be something to question without her present. For now, he could tell that the two would speak with one conversation behind the other.

"Yeah. Say's he wants to warm-up and make some cash for his next duel."

Katsuya flushed at this, and Seto tried to construe a reason out of it. He picked up that it was about money. A simple enough matter, though apparently a strenuous one.

"Would the two of you like to speak about this privately?" Seto asked, cutting through the tension between the two before he had to feel like he was analyzing from afar as a third party. He calmly placed the dishes in the sanitizer and pressed the door closed. "Or should we leave? Mokuba and I will still be needing some assistance."

That seemed fair, giving two options. Kujaku seemed irked enough by his being there and Katsuya would stand better chances if he had her one-on-one.

"Right. Mai…I'll explain everything later. Tell Ryota I said hello."

Kujaku didn't say anything, but nodded, softening a little with the promise that it'd all be explained to her in a logical fashion later. Her temper had a weakness for her friends. Perhaps especially for Katsuya. A conscious decision was required to not view Kujaku as competition. Along with his unspoken insecurity, he didn't need to add 'extreme paranoia' to the list. What would Mokuba say?

What Mokuba would say was something Seto refused to allow himself to imagine. He could get a mouthful of it directly from the source later.

"I'll call in the morning," Katsuya promised. Kujaku nodded and cleared the way for them to leave. As they exited Katsuya had the look of man caught in a web he should have seen coming. They were well on their way before Katsuya started to explain himself.

Old gambling debts, threats of a beat down, threats against his family, desperately trying to not get more deeply involved than he had to be; in short, trying to shake off the last of what his life had been with his father. It sounded like a script for a yakuza film, but there it was, spilling right out of the one man who couldn't help but always eventually tell the truth about something.

It was easy to understand why Kujaku had been affected as she had. The way that it left Seto was similar to how he imagined that it'd left Kujaku; wondering how Katsuya could have been stupid enough not to ask for help when it would have been gladly given. But then, there was a pride that radiated off of the man that felt similar as well. A pride they all had, and Seto could understand that as well. If it'd been him, he'd have done the same thing. However, Katsuya's plan of winning the money to pay for the debts was flawed in that he also insisted on playing on people of equal or greater skill as himself. As though he were trying to correct a dishonour that did not belong to him.

"Fuck," he groaned. With some theatrics, he pressed his head against the window as though daring the car door to fall off and toss him into the abyss of the pavement. "It's not even my score to settle. Talk about an inheritance."

"I could-" Seto began.

_"No."_

Annoyed at being cut off so quickly Seto took his eyes of the road for a moment to glance at Katsuya, who was glaring at the pavement out before them without looking at it at all. Stubborn ass.

"Don't be stupid."

"I'm…it's none of your business."

This seemed in direct contradiction for the claims to possibilities of togetherness that'd been laid out before and the fact that all of the business that was apparently not his had just been laid out for him in great and colourfully verbal detail. His hands tightened on the wheel and he resisted pulling over abruptly so that he may engage more safely in argument. But he was old enough to know that the type of arguing that required stationary vehicles wouldn't lead to anything productive. Instead, he offered an alternative, less imposing type of assistance,

"Then at least let me help you prepare."

He could feel Katsuya staring at him, and glanced over again to meet the stare. Surprise was look he was getting this time. It was clear that Katsuya had expected more force or reprimand. But forcing an idea that Seto could tell from experience would time and time again be rejected was a waste of time when there was a more logical and less invasive course of action that could be taken.

"Thank-you," Katsuya accepted. "I really…thank-you."

Seto bristled, unused to hearing thanks.

"Thank me after you win the duel," he corrected.

A dry, scathing laugh filled the vehicle. Seto was glad when it faded into a more relieved and relaxed conversation following.


End file.
